THE -FUGITIVE 
-BLACKSMITH- 


S-P-3TE 


THE 
FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 


OP  CHIP.  LIBRARY,   LOS  AJGHJES 


In  the  Sand-house 


THE 
FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 


BY 


CHARLES  D.   STEWART 


NEW  YORK 

THE   CENTURY   CO. 

1905 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published  February,  1905 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS 


THE 
FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 


2133081 


THE 
FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 


CHAPTER  I 


HE  Finerty  household,  like  all 
Gaul,  was  divided  into  three 
parts:  the  kitchen,  the  "middle 
room, ' '  and  the  parlor. 

As  Mrs.  Finerty  used  to  say, 
"We  have  two  rooms  to  live 
in,  an'  wan  for  Michael.  'T  is  a  pity  that 
MAN"— and  she  would  say  it  as  if  she  were 
emphasizing  the  whole  human  race— "w'u'd 
not  lave  things  th'  way  God  thried  to  have 
thim,  an'  not  be  invintin'  locomotives  to  be 
kapin'  all  kinds  av  hours.  We  're  atin'  an' 
shlapin'  from  hand  to  mouth;  an'  't  is  little 
I  hear  av  Michael 's  voice  but  whin  he  shnores. 
But  sometimes  I  shtop  in  me  worruk  an'  think 
how  thankful  I  ought  to  be  to  hear  that;  for 
wid  him  always  laid  out  in  th '  dark  parlor,  't  is 
th'  only  thing  that  kapes  him  from  bein'  dead 
to  his  family  intirely." 

The   sacred   parlor   seldom   had   its   green 


4    THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

blinds  raised,  for  it  was  here  that  Michael  re- 
posed in  daytime  darkness.  Had  it  not  thus 
been  used,  the  parlor,  it  is  safe  to  say,  would 
never  have  been  invaded  except  on  rare  com- 
pany occasions.  So  Michael  was  laid  by  in  it 
as  an  entirely  "out-of-the-way"  place.  It  was 
chilly  and  still,  as  befitted  its  household  alti- 
tude ;  and,  principal  among  its  grandeurs,  there 
looked  down  from  the  wall  over  Michael's  bed 
a  framed  relic  of  preserved  flowers,  and  a  cher- 
ished coffin-plate  in  a  sort  of  show-case  picture- 
frame.  And  the  coffin-plate,  as  if  in  continual 
reference  to  the  sleeping  Michael,  hung  over 
him  with  the  one  word  ' '  Rest. ' ' 

Finerty,  as  night  keeper  of  the  sand-house 
and  coal-chutes  in  the  Memphis  "yards,"  was 
called  foreman,  although,  as  he  explained,  "I 
do  all  th'  worruk  mesilf."  But  there  had  to 
be  some  title  for  a  man  who  put  his  official 
signature  in  lead-pencil  on  the  tickets  that 
showed  how  much  coal  and  sand  each  engi- 
neer had  taken.  This  clerical  phase  of  his 
labors  with  the  shovel  was  what  made  him  a 
" raysponsible  man,"  and  as  strict  and  vigi- 
lant an  official  as  could  be  wished  for. 

As  Finerty  used  to  explain  whenever  a  visi- 
tor was  shown  inside  the  sand-house,  "  'T  is 
f'r  th'  hoomps  on  th'  backs  av  locomotives. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH    5 

Ye  see, ' '  he  would  continue,  demonstrating  the 
matter  on  two  fingers,  ''there  are  two  hoomps 
on  th'  back  av  a  locomotive.  Th'  wan  is  for 
dry  shteam  an'  th'  other  is  for  dry  sand.  An' 
if  ye  don't  belave  it  about  th'  dry  shteam  ye 
can  ask  Halloran,  that  has  run  on  th'  division 
for  twinty  year,  an'  he  '11  tell  ye  'tis  thrue. 
But  there  's  no  wan  iver  saw  ginooine 
shteam;  f 'r  whin  ye  can  see  it  't  is  not  shteam, 
an'  'tis  no  good.  An'  so  they  have  th'  hoomp 
on  top  av  th'  biler  where  th'  gassy  shteam  will 
rise  intil.  An'  th'  pipe  gets  it  there,  shkimmin' 
th '  cream  off  th '  top  like.  An '  th '  other  hoomp 
is  where  th'  pipe  gets  th'  sand  that  it  shpills 
down  on  th'  rails  on  a  shlippery  day.  'T  is 
that  way  a  locomotive  goes." 

And  frequently  he  would  add,  pointing  him- 
self out  with  the  demonstrative  finger,  "An' 
't  is  me  that  pits  th'  sand  into  thim." 

One  spring  day  Mrs.  Finerty  applied  her 
ear  frequently  to  the  keyhole,  and  each  time 
announced  to  Agnes,  "Yer  father  is  shnorin'. 
I  do  hope,"  she  said,  "that  yer  fa-a-ather  will 
wake  up  airly  enough  to  tell  me  th'  news— if 
ther'  be's  anny." 

That  was  Mrs.  Finerty 's  day  for  the  weekly 
baking;  and  early  in  the  afternoon,  when  she 
had  her  bread  and  biscuit  to  the  right  point  of 


6    THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

lightness,  she  again  began  her  struggle  with 
the  fire,  which  persisted  in  burning  only  at  one 
end. 

While  she  was  so  employed,  Michael  awoke 
and  came  out  into  the  kitchen,  his  suspenders 
draping  his  trousers  and  the  sleeves  of  his  red 
undershirt  rolled  up  to  his  elbows.  Having 
looked  sleepily  at  the  clock,  he  sat  down  on  the 
step  that  descended  from  the  middle  room  to 
the  kitchen,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  blink- 
ing at  the  daylight  and  waiting  for  his  senses 
to  gather  themselves  together. 

When  Mrs.  Finerty  had  patted  a  potato 
pancake  into  shape,  and  given  the  stove  an 
admonitory  punching  with  the  poker,  she 
turned  her  attention  to  her  spouse. 

"Why  don't  ye  shpeak?  Why  don't  ye  be 
tellin'  me  what  ye  were  doin'  yestherday  af- 
thernoon1?" 

He  had  risen  early  the  day  before  to  go 
across  the  Mississippi  and  see  Mary  Ann  and 
her  cousin  on  the  "widdy's  farm,"  for  Mary 
had  a  letter  from  "acrost  th'  wather." 

"Did  ye  see  Mary  Ann!"  Mrs.  Finerty 
insisted. 

"I  did  not.  She  was  away.  But  I  saw  her 
cousin,  an'  I  saw  no  wan  but  him,  an'  I  wint 
nowhere. ' ' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH    7 

"An'  what  were  ye  doin'?" 

"I  was  mindin'  th'  farm.  An'  I  w'u'd  want 
to  be  no  farmer.  'T  is  too  dangerous.  I  nearly 
had  a  wreck." 

"A  wreck!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  w'u'd 
ye  have  a  wreck  on  a  farm  I" 

"'T  is  not  anny thing  ye  w'u'd  undher- 
shtand." 

"I  w'u'd  be  listenin'  to  it,  annyway." 

"Well,  befure  Jawn  wint  away,  he  shtarted 
to  explain  about  th '  throttle  av  th '  plow.  '  Ye 
don't  need  to  be  delayin'  yersilf  showin'  me 
annything  about  that, '  says  I ;  *  for  't  is  little  I 
don't  know  about  a  throttle,  an'  me  worrukin' 
twinty  year  on  th '  railroad.  I  know  that  all ; 
an'  whin  ye  throw  it  till  th'  last  notch  here,  't  is 
turned  off;  an'  whin  ye  throw  it  till  th'  last 
notch  there,  't  is  turned  on.  But  ye  might  be 
inthrojoocin'  me  to  th'  four  cows,'  says  I; 
'for,  seein'  there  is  no  lines  nor  bridle  nor 
annything,  I  'd  want  to  be  knowin '  their  names 
so  that  they  '11  be  mindin'  what  I  tell  them  to 
do.' 

"  'I  will,'  says  he;  'an'  I  don't  doubt  but, 
from  what  ye  know,  ye  '11  be  gettin'  along  all 
right.  I  am  only  goin'  acrost  th'  river  to  get 
some  seed.' 

"  'Ye  need  n't  be  apologizin'  at  all,'  says  I, 


8    THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

'an'  ye  th'  cousin  av  Mary  Ann  McBride. 
For  it  's  little  I  w'u'd  n't  be  doin'  for  Mary 
Ann's  cousin,'  says  I. 

"  'Well,'  says  he,  'th'  near  leader  is  called 
Coaly.' 

"  'D'  ye  mane  th'  black  runt  av  a  wan  to  th' 
lift  side  in  front,  wid  only  th'  shtoomp  av  a 
tail?'  says  I. 

"  'Yis,'  says  he;  'I  got  him  off  a  load  from 
Texas.  An'  that  was  all  th'  coyotes  left  av  his 
tail.  An'  ye  '11  soon  see  that  he  leans  sideways 
on  th'  yoke  to  be  pullin'  away  from  worruk  all 
th'  time  he  is  doin'  it;  an'  that  makes  it  twice 
as  hard  for  him,  so  that  he  gets  blowed.  If  ye 
notice  him  shwellin'  up  in  th'  shtummick,  't  is 
a  sign  he  is  gettin'  blowed.  An'  ye  '11  be  givin' 
him  a  rest  till  it  goes  down  a  little, '  says  he. 

11  'I  can  raymimber  that,'  says  I. 

"  'An'  th'  off  leader  is  named  Shpot,'  says 
he. 

"  'Is  it  th'  tall  rid-and-white  wan  that  is 
parthner  av  th'  little  black  runt!'  says  I. 

"'Ye 're  right,'  says  he. 

"An'  he  p'inted  him  out  to  me  wid  th'  ind  av 
a  shtick.  He  was  a  bony  old  woman  av  a  baste, 
all  marked  over  in  rid  like  th'  map  av  a 
sthrange  counthry,  wid  gulfs  an '  bays  in  white. 
Th'  lift  side  av  his  face  was  rid,  like  ye  'd 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH    9 

think  he  had  nosed  himsilf  befure  th'  map  was 
dry,  an'  he  got  half  av  Florida  on  his  face. 
An'  th'  rump  av  him  propped  his  hide  out  like 
th '  centher-pole  av  a  tent,  he  was  that  thin. 

"  'D'  ye  iver  let  him  shtand  out  in  th'  rain?' 
says  I. 

11  'Why  wor  ye  askin"?'  says  he. 

"'I'm  thinkin'  it  w'u'd  not  do;  for  th' 
basins  in  th'  flanks  av  him  w'u'd  be  fillin'  wid 
rain-wather,  an'  't  w'u'd  be  bad  f'r  his  rheu- 
matism,' says  I. 

"  '  I  have  n  't  noticed  that  it  dooes, '  says  he ; 
'  although  ye  might  think  so.  Th '  shtiff  walk  is 
only  his  natheral  way,  from  bein'  tall  an'  thin.' 

"  'I  can  raymimber  he  is  Shpot,  aisy 
enough, '  says  I. 

"  'An'  th'  off  wheeler  is  named  Nig,'  says 
he. 

"  "T  is  th'  big  black  wan  to  th'  right  behind 
that  ye  mane, '  says  I.  '  Nig  will  be  th '  wan  wid 
th '  right  side  av  his  face  bigger  nor  th '  other, ' 
says  I.  For  ye  'd  think  some  wan  had 
shlapped  him  wid  th '  thrunk  av  a  three  till  he 
was  Roman-nosed  on  wan  side  wid  th'  shwell- 
in '  av  it. 

"  "T  is  only  what  's  called  a  warble, '  says 
he,  'an'  't  is  no  hurt  to  him  at  all.  An','  says 
he,  'th'  other  is  th'  near  wheeler,  that  ye  '11  be 


10  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

handlin'  thim  all  wid,  an'  his  name  is  Shquat. 
Ye  see  there  is  nothin '  th '  matter  wid  him. ' 

"  'He  is  th'  fine,  able-bodied  wan;  an'  't  is 
a  pity  ye  did  n  't  have  thim  all  like  that,  so  that 
they  w'u'd  match,'  says  I. 

"  'They  are  matched  perfect,'  says  he.  'In 
th'  first  place,'  says  he,  puttin'  his  finger  into 
th'  palm  av  his  hand,  '  't  is  only  because  they 
are  shtandin'  on  th'  level  ground;  an'  they  're 
a  plow-team, '  says  he.  With  that  he  geed  thim 
all  over  till  th '  right-hand  wans  were  shtandin ' 
down  in  th'  furrow. 

"  'I  see,'  says  I.  'They  are  all  out  av  joint 
on  th'  smooth  land,  like  a  fish  out  av  wather. 
An'  now,  wan  is  no  higher  than  his  parthner, 
although  he  is  taller.  But  ye  'd  hardly  call 
thim  matched  at  that ;  for  they  're  av  all  shapes 
an'  hefts  an'  thinnesses— not  shpakin'  av  color. 
An'  th'  wan  to  th'  right  behind  is  not  only 
taller,  but  is  sthronger-lookin'  acrost  th'  back 
nor  his  parthner. ' 

"  'Ye  see,'  says  he,  shtartin'  to  rattle  away, 
like  th'  catechism  av  th'  locomotive,  'how  they 
were  matched  for  size  an'  sthren'th,  foorward 
and  back,  an'  right  an'  lift,  th'  way  ye  'd  have 
to  take  th'  side  av  a  shlate  to  be  figurin'  it  out.' 

"  'Do  I  have  to  know  much  av  that?'  says  I, 
lookin '  at  him  wid  his  fingers  matched  together 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  11 

like  th'  rails  av  a  log  fince  to  be  showin'  how 
mixed  up  an'  perfect  it  all  was. 

"  'Ye  have  only  to  drive  thim  an'  tind  to  th' 
throttle, '  says  he. 

"  'Ivery  man  to  his  thrade,'  says  I;  'for  I 
can  tind  th'  throttle.  An'  it  '11  be  gee  an'  haw 
for  a  signal  at  th'  curves,  an'  they  can  tind  to 
th'  rist.' 

"  'Ye  need  not  say,  "Gee!"  an'  "Haw!"  at 
all, '  says  he ; '  for  th '  leaders  have  been  out  to 
grass  an'  are  too  ignorant  to  know  it.  Ye  have 
only  to  say  "wo"  at  th'  ind  av  th'  furrow,  an' 
th'  wheeler  will  sit  down  an'  hould  thim  all 
back.  An'  whin  he  brings  thim  to  a  shtop,  ye 
whip  th'  leaders  round  where  ye  want  thim, 
for  they  're  intilligint  enough  to  know  that. ' 

"  "T  is  Shquat  holds  thim  back,'  says  I. 

"  'Yis,'  says  he;  ''tis  for  that  rayson  th' 
sthrong  an '  intilligint  wan  is  put  behind  on  the 
land  side  o'  th'  furrow.  'T  is  so  that  whin  he 
"  wo 's, "  th '  front  wans  will  have  to.  An '  they 
can 't  be  runnin '  away,  because  an  ox  can  hould 
back  as  much  as  half  a  dozen  can  pull.' 

"  "T  w'u'd  be  no  use  for  th'  front  wans  to 
"wo,"  wid  th'  hind  wans  havin'  horns  to  push 
thim  wid, '  says  I. 

"  "T  is  that  exactly;  ye  '11  have  no  throuble 
at  all,'  says  he. 


12  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'I  'm  thinkin'  th'  wheeler  behind  is  a  good 
wan  at  quittin'  worruk,  an'  is  always  willin'  to 
do  it,'  says  I. 

"  'Ye  have  th'  saycrit  av  th'  thrade,'  says 
he.  'He  'd  break  his  neck  to  shtop  thim.' 

"  'He  is  th'  foreman  av  th'  gang,'  says  I. 

' '  '  Now  ye  have  it, '  says  he. 

"Wid  that,  he  wint  away  an'  lift  me.  An' 
sorra  th'  day  he  did. 

"I  shtarted  thim  up,  an'  they  all  folleyed 
down  th'  furrow  as  sthraight  an'  aisy  as  if 
't  was  th '  way  home  from  worruk.  At  th '  ind 
I  did  what  he  tould  me,  an'  we  crossed  over  an' 
got  into  th'  thrack  av  th'  down  furrow  back 
again.  'T  was  an  aisy  thrade  to  Tarn.  An' 
't  was  a  long  field  wid  a  five-minute  thrip 
acrost  it,  an'  nothin'  to  do  but  sit  on  th'  iron 
sate,  wid  yer  hands  to  yersilf,  an'  look  at  th1 
scenery.  So  I  lit  me  pipe  an '  sat,  wid  me  hands 
on  me  knees,  shmellin'  th'  fine  air  and  thinkin' 
what  was  in  me  mind. 

"Back  an'  foorward  we  wint,  wid  no  throu- 
ble  at  all,  but  to  raymind  the  big  wan  whin  we 
come  to  th'  fince,  an'  thin  show  thim  all  th' 
lift  hand  wid  th'  whip.  The  medlarks  was 
all  folleyin'  behind  in  a  sthring,  takin'  th' 
worms  from  th'  sod,  like  pancakes  that  I  'd  be 
turnin'  over  for  their  breakfast.  An'  they 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  13 

kept  that  close  't  w'u'd  surprise  ye,  to  be  get- 
tin'  th'  worms  befure  they  c'u'd  shrink  up 
short  into  their  holes  again.  All  av  us  med  a 
procission  half  a  block  long,  an'  't  was  no  more 
worruk  than  St.  Pathrick  's  day  whin  ye  're  on 
th'  committee  an'  ridin'  on  a  float. 

"  'Had  I  knowed  about  farmin','  says  I  to 
mesilf,  'I  w'u'd  niver  have  1'arned  to  shovel 
sand  an'  coal  at  the  chutes— an'  I  'd  niver  be 
an  ingineer  that  has  to  look  ahead  all  th'  time, 
an'  bother  about  shtayin'  on  th'  thrack.  For 
cows, '  thinks  I, '  are  more  intilligint  nor  a  horse 
or  a  locomotive.' 

"They  w'u'd  go  through  th'  black  land  as 
aisy  as  makin'  a  mark  in  ashes.  An'  whin  ye 
come  to  a  tough  place,  wid  th '  plow  a-crunchin ' 
through  th'  woven  grass,  an'  th'  chain  shtiff 
as  a  crowbar,  ye  w'u'd  not  know  't  was  anny 
worruk  at  all,  from  lookin'  at  thim.  For  they 
w'u'd  nayther  lean  nor  pull,  but  w'u'd  ramble 
along  like  an  ould  woman  out  for  her  health 
—an'  th'  plow  comin'  afther  thim.  'T  is  that 
sthrong  they  are. 

"An'  at  th'  ind  av  ivery  furrow  th'  wan 
called  Shquat  w'u'd  hear  me,  an'  he  w'u'd  sit 
back  an'  hould  thim  like  a  bulldog  that  w'u'd 
not  lave  go  if  ye  pulled  his  head  off.  I  'm 
thinkin'  that  befure  they  'd  'a'  dragged  him 


14  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

he  'd  V  plowed  a  furrow  wid  each  av  his 
hoofs,  an'  thin  he  'd  not  give  in.  For  they  're 
shtill  sthronger  that  way.  An'  he  was  like  th' 
felly  said. 

"Whin  it  was  they  shtarted  to  run  away  wid 
me  I  dunno.  For  they  did  n't  run  at  all,  but 
just  wint  on  wid  th'  same  furrow  acrost  th' 
counthry  to  th'  southwest  a  mile  or  so,  an'  thin 
east  again  to  th'  place  they  all  had  in  mind  to 
be  spindin'  th'  afthernoon.  I  did  n't  get  what 
ye  might  call  mad  till  they  had  gone  a  quarther 
av  a  mile  or  so— an'  thim  not  pretindin'  they 
noticed  me,  wid  all  I  c'u'd  say  or  do,  but  only 
lavin'  me  to  me  own  foolishness.  'T  was  thin 
I  lifted  th '  plow  out  av  th '  ground,  to  see  thim 
go  fasther.  An'  they  did  not.  An'  't  was  thin 
I  was  what  ye  w'u'd  call  mad.  For  they  're  not 
like  horses  that  has  to  run  away  in  a  hurry 
for  fear  some  wan  might  ask  thim  to  shtop. 
'T  is  a  case  av  'We  know  our  own  minds;  an' 
what  are  ye  goin'  to  do  about  it!'  'T  is  that 
makes  ye  mad.  An'  they  give  ye  plenty  av 
time  to  show  what  ye  're  good  for.  An'  ye  're 
good  for  nothin'. 

"But  't  was  all  like  this  it  kern  about.  Whilst 
I  was  puttin'  a  furrow  acrost  th'  field,  th' 
sthrong  wan  dropped  down  on  his  belly,  wid  his 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  15 

legs  folded,  an'  he  throws  a  swally  up  his  neck 
to  his  mouth,  an'  shtarts  his  jaw  to  worruk- 
in',  like  takin'  a  chew.  I  let  thim  rest  a  while, 
for  th'  leader  was  gettin'  blowed  up  in  th' 
shtummick,  an'  I  thought  I  w'u'd  not  be  inther- 
ferin'  for  a  while.  But  whin  th'  time  was  up, 
I  gave  th'  sthrong  wan  a  dig  in  th'  ribs,  an' 
says,  'Get  up.  We  will  now  be  goin'  along.' 

"He  took  another  swally  from  th'  inside  av 
him  an'  shtarted  in  to  be  chewin'  that  up.  I 
gave  him  another  dig,  an'  a  rap  wid  th'  butt 
av  th '  whip ;  an '  whin  I  saw  that  did  n  't  shcare 
him  at  all  I  laid  it  on  till  him  harder.  He  swal- 
lied  down  his  cud  again,  whin  he  had  it  to 
suit  him,  and  thin  I  saw  another  come  up  his 
throat;  an'  he  shtarted  up  his  jaw  as  cool  as  ye 
plase.  He  was  kapin '  on  wid  his  own  worruk. 

' '  *  Git  up,  now, '  says  I.  '  Ye  can  be  chewin ' 
yer  breakfast  to-night.  I  worruk  nights  me- 
silf,  an'  ye  are  no  betther  nor  I  am,'  says  I. 
*  We  will  now  be  doin '  th '  plowin '. ' 

"  'T  was  thin  I  shtarted  at  him  wid  th'  heel 
av  me  boot.  But  whilst  I  w'u'd  be  kickin'  him 
at  wan  ind,  he  w  'u  'd  kape  on  chewin '  gum,  like 
me  daughther  Agnes,  an'  lookin'  about  as  if 
't  was  fine  weather  he  thought  we  were  havin' 
th'  day. 

"An*  whilst  I  was  shtandin'  off,  thinkin' 


16  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

how  I  e'u'd  hurt  him  widout  killin'  him,  his 
hind  legs  shtands  up  whilst  th'  front  wans  was 
shtill  layin '  down  wid  him  chewin ' ;  an '  thin  he 
rises  up  at  th '  front  ind  an '  shtands  there,  like 
't  was  now  time  for  me  to  tind  to  me  business 
again— an'  him  havin'  th'  say.  So  I  got  on  me 
sate  again  an'  we  shtarted  off  plowin'. 

"Or  mabby  't  was  thin  they  were  shtarted 
to  where  they  were  goin'  to  spind  th'  day— for 
I  thought  't  was  plowin'  till  we  got  out  av  th' 
field.  Annyway,  I  gave  him  a  rap  wid  th'  butt- 
ind  av  th '  whip  an '  a  taste  av  th '  cracker. 

"  '  'T  is  always  th'  way,'  says  I,  'that  an  aisy 
boss  will  be  imposed  upon.  An'  't  is  that  I  get 
for  me  good-natured  way.'  So  whin  we  were 
gettin'  to  th'  ind  av  th'  furrow  I  hammered 
him  again  be  way  av  lettin'  him  know  I  had 
a  mind  av  me  own,  an'  so  that  he  w'u'd  tind  to 
his  houldin '  back  whin  I  'd  say,  *  Wo ! ' 

"An'  that  time  he  did  n't  do  it  at  all.  Th' 
leaders  wint  on  till  they  run  into  th'  fince;  an' 
him  pullin'  an'  helpin'  along.  Whin  they 
turned  they  brought  th'  plow  so  close  they 
broke  off  a  fince-post;  an'  they  kept  goin'  along 
th'  fince,  wid  th'  iron  axle  av  th'  plow  shnap- 
pin'  off  wan  post  an'  thin  another.  An'  on 
account  av  th'  barb-wire  I  c'u'd  not  get  to  th' 
right  side  av  thim  to  be  shooin'  thim  back 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  17 

from  it.  So  I  shtood  up  on  th '  sate  an'  jumped 
over  th'  fince,  an'  I  whipped  thim  away  from 
there.  'Wo,  to  th' lift!' says  I.  'Turn  to  th' 
lift!  D'  ye  think  't  is  a-reapin'  fince-posts  I 
want  ye  for ! '  Wid  that  they  med  a  circle  back, 
and  thin  kem  out  av  th'  hole  they  had  med  in 
th'  fince.  An'  away  they  plowed  acrost  th' 
land  that  was  no  farm  at  all. 

"'T  was  thin  I  saw  that  th'  barb-wire  was 
caught  in  th'  axle  by  the  wheel  an'  was  ravel- 
in' off  th'  posts  as  they  wint  along.  An'  I 
wint  along,  hollerin'  'Wo!'  into  th'  sthrong 
wan's  ear.  But  he  kept  on  plowin'  away  to 
where  he  was  goin'.  Wid  that  an  idee  kem 
to  me  at  wanst.  I  w'u'd  sink  th'  plow  so  deep 
't  w  'u  'd  anchor  thim  to  th '  earth.  So  I  jumped 
up  on  th'  sate  an'  put  on  th'  emergency  brake, 
throwin'  th'  throttle  over  till  th'  last  notch. 
An'  thin  th'  plow  threw  a  furrow  that  ye  c'u'd 
V  berrid  a  man  in;  but  divil  a  bit  did  they 
know  it  was  tied  to  thim  at  all.  Th'  yoke  wint 
a  bit  deeper  into  their  bull  necks,  an'  that  was 
all.  An'  they  kept  pokin'  on,  nayther  fasther 
nor  shlower. 

1  i  Whin  I  looked  back  a  quarther  av  a  mile,  I 
c'u'd  see  th'  other  ind  av  th'  wire  shnappin'  off 
from  post  to  post  an'  lettin'  us  out  like  th' 
sthring  av  a  kite.  ' This  won't  do  at  all.  We  '11 


18  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

be  unwindin'  th'  whole  farm,'  says  I.  'An' 
I  '11  have  to  be  shtoppin'  thim.'  Wid  that  I 
ran  ahead  an'  shtood  wavin'  me  arms  an' 
threatenin '  thim  back.  But  they  kem  sthraight 
on,  waggin'  their  horns  befure  thim;  an'  I  had 
to  get  out  av  th'  way  to  kape  from  bein'  kilt 
an'  berrid  at  wan  operation. 

"I  '11  not  be  tellin'  ye  th'  whole  av  it;  for 
't  is  n't  a  thing  ye  can  tell  about  to  some  wan 
ilse.  Whin  a  horse  does  it,  't  is  somethin'  to 
shpake  av ;  but  what  is  it  whin  ye  're  dragged 
off  by  a  parcel  av  cows  I  'T  is  only  a  walk-out, 
an'  not  a  word  av  where  ye  're  goin'  to. 

"Whin  I  had  been  mad  two  or  three  times  I 
sat  down  on  me  sate ;  an '  there  were  the  med- 
larks  hoppin'  along  behind  an'  chirpin'  like 
ye  'd  think  I  was  doin'  it  all  for  thim.  'Git 
back,  ye  dom  birds;  d'  ye  want  to  be  insultin' 
me  too?'  says  I.  'Git  back  to  your  field  an' 
mind  yer  business.'  An'  I  cut  out  at  thim  wid 
th'  whip.  An'  there  was  th'  wire  as  far  back 
as  ye  c'u'd  see;  an'  it  thrailin'  in  th'  furrow 
like  ye  'd  think  I  was  layin'  a  cable. 

' '  'T  was  an  open,  level  counthry  for  a  while, 
wid  here  an'  there  a  shtump  or  a  hummock,  an' 
no  sound  but  th'  tinkle  av  a  cow-bell  in  th'  dis- 
tance an'  th'  sound  av  th'  grasshopper  callin' 
to  his  mate.  Whin  we  were  out  av  sight  av 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  19 

our  own  land,  th'  counthry  sloped  more  till  th' 
east,  wid  here  an '  there  a  bush  or  a  young  three 
that  w'u'd  bind  befure  th'  axle  an'  thin  shnap 
up  sthraight  again.  There  was  an  oak-three 
ahead,  an'  I  was  hopin'  we  'd  run  sthraddle  av 
that;  but  we  changed  our  coorse  befure  that 
an'  wint  sthraight  east. 

"Th'  cows  were  now  settled  down,  tendin' 
sthrictly  to  th'  business  av  walkin'  away  wid 
me ;  an '  I  thinks  to  mesilf ,  '  'T  is  now  mabby 
th'  heavy-set  cow  will  be  listenin'  to  rayson.' 
So  I  got  down  an'  wint  alongside  an'  pounded 
him  on  th'  nose,  tellin'  him  to  shtop. 

' '  *  Wo !  ye  ould  shtir-pot  av  a  throuble- 
maker,'  says  I.  'Woe  to  ye,  if  ye  don't  wo!' 
says  I. 

* '  But  he  only  nodded  his  head  up  an '  down, 
as  if  he  undhershtood  what  I  was  sayin'  but 
did  n't  think  much  av  me  advice.  An'  nixt  we 
crossed  a  counthry  road.  An'  we  put  a  thank- 
ye-ma'am  acrost  it  that  '11  be  joltin'  th'  farm- 
ers for  years  to  come. 

"Whin  I  saw  th'  railroad  ahead,  I  climbed 
up  on  me  sate  to  be  mindin'  th'  throttle;  for 
I  did  n't  want  to  be  pullin'  up  th'  thracks  an' 
makin'  that  kind  av  throuble.  So  I  put  it  foor- 
ward  wid  all  me  sthren'th  to  the  last  notch,  an' 
threw  her  wide  open  wid  th'  plow  'way  off 


20  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

th'  ground  intirely.  An'  we  wint  over  th'  rail- 
road widout  doin '  anny  damage  at  all ;  th '  iron 
wheels  only  bumpin'  over  th'  rails. 

"On  th'  other  side  av  th'  thracks  we  came 
to  a  sthrip  av  woods;  an'  we  wint  into  thim, 
wid  here  an'  there  a  thin  pig  lookin'  at  us  in 
alarrm  an'  runnin'  away  like  a  deer.  An'  be- 
fure  long  we  were  headed  for  a  naygur  cabin 
that  was  shtandin'  up  high  on  props,  like  four 
legs,  to  be  kapin'  it  out  av  th'  shpring  rises. 
Whin  we  were  nearly  to  it  I  shtood  up,  an' 
got  ready  to  jump;  for  I  c'u'd  see  that  th'  iron 
axle  w'u'd  be  catchin'  wan  av  th'  tall  posts,  an' 
I  'd  be  havin'  the  house  down  on  top  av  me. 
We  only  shkinned  it  wid  th'  hub— but  't  was 
a  close  escape,  I  'm  thinkin'. 

1 '  'T  was  thin  I  saw  th '  sight  that  brought 
th'  satisfaction  back  to  me  again,  an'  med  me 
feel  like  a  man  wanst  more.  For  there  was 
th'  wather  av  th'  river  that  I  c'u'd  see  shpark- 
lin'  bechune  th'  leaves  av  th'  threes  sthraight 
ahead  an'  shinin'  in  th'  sun.  'T  was  th'  Mis- 
sissippi ;  an'  now  we  'd  be  seem'  was  I  th'  boss 
or  not. 

"  'I  'm  thinkin'  ye  '11  be  shtoppin'  a  while 
now,'  says  I.  An'  I  got  ready  to  be  sayin', 
'Wo!'  whin  they  'd  have  to  be  shtoppin'— just 
for  th'  satisfaction  av  it.  An'  whin  we  got 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  21 

to  th'  edge  av  it  I  shtood  up  an'  said,  'Wo, 
now!' 

"They  kept  sthraight  on.  They  wint  in  it 
fasther  than  iver;  an'  befure  I  cVd  get  me 
mind  we  was  plowin'  into  th'  river,  wid  me 
holdin'  me  feet  up  out  av  th'  wather  an'  think- 
in'  I  w'u'd  dive  back  to  shore  whin  th'  wather 
w'u'd  be  comin'  up  to  me  neck.  An'  they  wint 
on  till  th'  wather  was  half-way  up  their  bellies, 
where  they  c'u'd  take  a  dhrink  widout  th' 
throuble  av  shtoopin'  their  heads.  An'  whin 
I  thought  they  were  through  dhrinkin'  they 
w'u'd  nayther  go  foorward  nor  back,  but 
shtood  there,  mindin'  th'  scenery,  wid  th'  river 
coolin'  their  legs,  an'  thim  daddlin'  their  noses 
in  th'  wather.  Whither  th'  little  wan  was 
shtandin'  or  floatin',  I  dunno ;  but  I  'm  thinkin' 
't  was  a  good  thing  he  was  blowed  up  like  a 
bladder,  he  had  to  go  in  so  deep  to  suit  th'  tall 
wan. 

"An'  there  they  shtood,  peacef ul-like ;  an' 
I  c'u'd  now  see  't  was  this  they  had  in  mind 
to  be  doin'  all  th'  time.  An'  I  sat  wid  me  legs 
up  on  th'  sate,  wonderin'  if  I  w'u'd  shwim  off 
or  wait  till  they  'd  be  goin'  to  grass  an'  take  me 
along. 

"Th'  river  was  lappin'  against  th'  throttle 
an'  gushin'  in  the  chain ;  an'  I  sat  wid  th'  whip 


22  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

in  me  hand  in  a  way  that  I  w'u'd  only  need  a 
hook  on  it  to  be  catchin'  catfish.  An'  behind 
me  was  the  fince-wire  ladin'  out  av  th'  wather 
like  a  throllin '-line.  Had  th'  barbs  on  it  wint 
into  a  few  av  th'  worms  I  had  been  turnin' 
up,  't  w'u'd  be  all  ready  to  catch  a  sthring  av 
thim.  An'  thin  I  'd  'a'  been  fishin'.  An'  th' 
medlarks  were  cleanin'  up  th'  last  av  their 
meal. 

"Afther  a  while  (for  I  had  now  plenty  av 
time  to  mesilf)  th'  Creole  Belle  kem  down  th' 
river  an'  called  out  wid  th'  base  whistle  av 
her.  An'  th'  tall  wan  looked  out  acrost  th' 
wather  an'  answered,  'Moo!'  like  givin'  a  sig- 
nal for  th'  pilot  to  be  passin'  us  on  th'  lift. 

"I  '11  not  be  tellin'  ye  all  I  thought,  for  I 
can't;  but  th'  ind  av  it  was  that  I  saw  a  man 
comin'  acrost  in  a  shkiff,  wid  his  back  to  us. 
'T  was  th'  cousin  av  Mary  Ann  bringin'  back 
the  seed;  an'  I  waited  till  he  'd  be  arrivin'. 

' '  '  Halloo ! '  says  I,  shtandin '  up  in  th '  sate 
on  th'  wather;  'we  thought  we  'd  all  be  comin' 
down  to  meet  ye,'  says  I.  'Had  ye  been  a  lit- 
tle later,  we  'd  'a'  passed  ye  in  th'  middle.' 

"He  rowed  around  th'  cows  in  th'  boat,  look- 
in'  to  see  was  iverything  right. 

"  "T  is  all  right,'  says  I,  'for  I  have  been 
tindin'  th'  throttle;  an'  't  is  now  turned  off. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  23 

If  't  wa'n't  for  that  we  'd  be  anchored  to  the 
bottom,  I  'm  thinkin'.  An'  I  handled  it  bist 
av  all  on  th'  railroad.' 

"  'How  did  ye  get  here?'  says  he. 

«  irpfo'  same  way  that  ye  '11  be  goin'  back,' 
says  I.  'An'  ye  '11  have  no  throuble  at  all  fig- 
urin'  it  out,  for  a  blind  man  c'u'd  find  th'  way 
we  kern.' 

"  'Throw  me  th'  whip,'  says  he. 

11  Whin  he  had  it  he  rowed  off  a  piece  till 
he  was  in  firin'  range,  an'  thin  he  worked  it 
at  thim,  wid  explosions  av  hair  flyin'  off  their 
backs— rid  hair  off  wan  av  thim  and  black  off 
another. 

" 'Huddah,  ye  shtub-tailed  Coaly!  Hud- 
dah,  ye  Shpot!  Get  out  av  there,  ye  ramblin' 
carcass ! '  says  he.  An '  th '  dust  av  th '  cracker 
wint  off  like  fireworks  befure  their  eyes,  an* 
him  sayin'  their  fav'rit'  shwear- words  till  ye  'd 
think  't  w'u'd  sink  th'  boat.  Wid  that  they 
med  up  their  minds  to  be  hurryin'  out.  An' 
they  turned  so  short  they  upset  th'  plow  an' 
sint  me  to  th'  bottom.  Whin  I  kem  up  I  took 
a  few  sthrokes  down-sthream  to  be  gettin'  rid 
av  their  company;  an'  thin  I  turned  to  land. 

' '  Whin  he  had  thim  shtarted  back  I  got  into 
th'  boat  an'  headed  for  Tinnissee  an'  th'  sand- 
house— for  't  was  time  for  me  to  go. 


24  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

' '  That  was  all  that  happened  till  me  at  farm- 
in'.  But  there  'a  manny  kinds  av  throttles, 
an'  it  much  depinds  on  what  kind  av  power  ye 
are  turnin'  on.  I  don't  care  to  be  tearin'  up 
th'  earth  like  that  again;  but,  annyway,  what- 
iver  I  do,  it  can't  be  said  that  I  have  n't  med 
me  mark  in  th'  worruld." 


CHAPTER  II 

|HEN  Michael  had  finished  this 
explanation  of  why  he  had  not 
seen  Mary  Ann,  to  which  Mrs. 
Finerty  listened  with  a  rapt 
seriousness  that  sometimes 
arose  to  horror,  he  opened 
the  door  of  the  wall-clock  and  fumbled  about 
inside  until  he  found  the  stump  of  a  lead-pen- 
cil, stopping  the  pendulum  in  his  search.  Then 
he  started  the  pendulum  again,  dampened  the 
point  of  the  pencil  on  his  tongue,  and  sat  down 
on  the  step.  While  he  was  engaged  with  the 
pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper  that  he  had  torn 
from  a  bag  of  sugar,  Mrs.  Finerty  turned  her 
attention  to  the  stubborn  stove,  and  deciding 
that  it  needed  coaxing  along,  she  went  out  into 
the  yard  to  split  kindling-wood.  Presently  she 
came  in  to  procure  a  case-knife  and  a  flat-iron, 
with  which  to  get  through  a  knot. 
"What  is  it  ye  are  figurin'  on,  Michael!" 


26  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

1  'How  much  have  ye  now  put  away,  Mar- 
g'retf" 

*  *  Elivin  dollars  an '  forty  cints, ' '  she  replied. 

"Twinty  dooes  n't  go  intil  that  manny  times. 
D '  ye  know,  had  I  th '  money,  what  I  w  'u  'd  do  1 
I  w'u'd  sind  Agnes  away  to  college." 

"College!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Finerty. 

' '  Yis ;  to  be  a  stinny grafter.  I  hear  ye  can 
go  intil  it  for  twinty  dollars  to  shtart.  An' 
mabby  they  'd  be  comin '  down  till  tin. ' ' 

"She  w'u'd  be  wearin'  silks  an'  satins," 
mused  Mrs.  Finerty.  And,  having  contem- 
plated the  problem  with  her  finger  at  the  corner 
of  her  mouth,  she  continued :  '  *  But  't  w  'u  'd  n  't 
be  safe,  Michael,  to  be  takin'  all  th'  money 
at  wanst.  Ye  can 't  tell. ' ' 

"No,"  remarked  Michael;  "I  was  only 
jist  figurin'  on  it.  'T  w'u'd  not  do,  for  ye 
can't  tell  whin  th'  hard  times  might  be  corn- 
in'  on.  I  'm  hopin'— and  fearin'— that  th' 
Dimmycrats  will  get  in  again.  An'  ye  can't 
tell  what  another  administhration  might  be 
doin'." 

"  'T  is  uncertain,"  she  replied. 

"But  't  is  th'  fine  worruk,  an'  had  I  th' 
money  't  is  that  I  w'u'd  do." 

He  put  the  pencil  back  in  the  clock,  again  in- 
terfering with  the  pendulum  and  starting  it 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  27 

up  again.  And  then  he  shut  the  door  on  the 
pencil  and  resumed  his  seat  on  the  step. 

IN  one  corner  of  Mrs.  Finerty's  kitchen  was 
the  flour-barrel  on  a  three-legged  stool  that 
had  each  of  its  feet  in  a  cup  of  water  to  keep 
the  ants  away— or,  rather,  there  were  but  two 
cups ;  for  the  third  leg,  that  was  out  of  the  way 
in  the  corner,  stood  in  a  broken  yellow  bowl. 
Against  another  wall  was  the  wash-bench  be- 
fore a  small  mirror;  and  the  wash-basin  was 
set  down  in  the  center  of  Mrs.  Finerty's  lar- 
gest tub,  an  arrangement  calculated  to  save  her 
immaculate  household  from  the  splashing  that 
Michael  indulged  in  when  he  came  home  early 
in  the  morning  and  got  the  coal-dust  off  him, 
washing  always  ''down  to  the  belt."  In  its 
proper  place  under  the  bench  was  half  a  co- 
coanut-shell  nailed  to  a  block  of  wood,  from 
which  bowl  the  cat  had  learned  to  take  her 
occasional  sup  of  milk  in  a  cleanly  manner. 
Before  the  cook-stove  was  a  round  " twist" 
mat;  and  where  its  circumvolutions  of  twisted 
and  sewed  rags  came  to  a  vortex  in  the  middle, 
the  cat  was  always  attracted;  and  there  she 
would  ' '  cuddle, "  as  if  by  a  law  of  nature,  and 
purr  in  unison  with  the  tea-kettle.  Besides 
the  drop-leaf  table  and  the  cupboard,  whose 


28  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

tin  front  had  ornamental  holes  in  it  and  was 
called  a  "safe,"  there  was  little  else  for  her  to 
scrub  and  scour,  which  caused  her  to  go  over 
them  the  more  often  with  added  particularity. 
And  in  the  bottom  compartment  of  the  *  *  safe ' ' 
was  a  sort  of  yellow  earthenware  caster  in- 
tended to  hold  medicines,  as  if  its  manufacturer 
had  designed  it,  not  only  to  keep  company  with 
the  food,  but  also  to  follow  it  to  the  table.  In 
it  was  the  *  '  black  oil ' '  that  cured  all  superficial 
disasters,  either  bruise  or  cut;  and  there  was 
the  ipecac,  the  most  sovereign  remedy  for  al- 
most anything  else  that  a  Finerty  could  be  af- 
flicted with.  And  whether  Mrs.  Finerty  al- 
ways diagnosed  right  or  not,  the  ipecac  was 
at  least  sufficient  to  make  Michael  forget  any 
other  ailment  after  she  made  him  take  it. 

The  floor  of  the  kitchen  was  lower  than  the 
general  level  of  the  house,  so  that  she  went 
into  the  middle  room  by  taking  a  step  up ;  and 
the  sense  of  the  kitchen's  comfortable  abase- 
ment from  the  higher  plane  of  the  carpeted 
portion  made  Mrs.  Finerty  often  declare  that 
it  was  "cozy-like  and  aisy." 

In  the  middle  room  was  the  high  chest  of 
drawers  supporting  an  ancient  brass  candle- 
stick and  a  pair  of  snuffers;  and  balancing  it 
off  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  was  the 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  29 

American  invasion  of  a  " what-not,"  whose 
shelves  bore  a  mock  orange,  a  piece  of  glass  in 
a  curious  chunk  from  a  glass-house,  and  other 
inutiles,  which  kept  their  place  merely  because 
long  occupancy  had  given  them  a  permanent 
right  of  existence,  even  though  they  had  be- 
hind them  the  history  of  ten  thousand  dustings. 
Here,  also,  was  the  high-posted  bed  in  which 
Mrs.  Finerty  and  Agnes  slept  while  Michael 
was  working;  and  under  it  was  the  hatchet 
which  had  given  them  the  confidence  to  sleep 
unprotected  for  many  years.  It  had  certainly 
been  there  every  night  as  long  as  Agnes  could 
remember;  and  she,  with  a  lifelong  confidence 
in  her  mother's  prowess,  dropped  early  to  rest, 
in  the  assurance  that  when  the  long-delayed 
tramp  or  burglar  got  round  to  his  job  of  rob- 
bing them  he  would  come  to  grief  at  the  hands 
of  her  mother. 

Going  out  again  to  take  a  look  at  the  elbow 
of  stovepipe  that  topped  the  low  brick  chim- 
ney,—an  experiment  of  Michael's  at  fixing  her 
troubles,— Mrs.  Finerty  made  puzzled  obser- 
vation of  the  direction  of  the  wind;  and  then 
she  came  in  and  took  the  hatchet  out  from 
under  the  bed,  resolved  to  conquer  the  stove. 
She  fell  to  splitting,  or,  rather,  hammering, 
wood  on  the  cinder-path,  occasionally  shying 


30  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

away  the  goat  that  persisted  in  investigating 
her  doings. 

Failing  in  her  efforts  with  the  hatchet,  she 
recollected  the  use  of  the  case-knife ;  and  now, 
by  dint  of  it  and  the  flat-iron,  she  resolved  to 
finish  splitting  the  wood.  Michael  came  out, 
and  stood  for  a  while  watching  her  operations. 

"Lave  go  an'  let  me  do  it  fur  ye  wid  th' 
hatchet.  'T  is  no  way  to  be  goin'  at  it." 

He  took  up  the  hatchet  and  battered  away 
without  accomplishing  more  than  smooth  welts 
on  the  side  of  the  stick.  Then  he  paused  and 
examined  the  dull,  rounded  edge  of  the  hatchet. 

* '  'T  is  time  't  was  fixed, ' '  he  remarked. 
1 '  'T  was  time  tin  years  ago.  I  think  I  will  sind 
a  thramp  up  an'  lave  him  rub  it  an  hour  or 
two  on  th'  brick  to  put  an  edge  on  it." 

"A  thramp!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Finerty. 
"An'  to  be  sharpenin'  th'  hatchet!  Ye  '11 
not  be  doin '  that.  'T  is  well  ye  know,  Michael, ' ' 
—and  she  said  it  in  a  tone  of  injury  and 
admonishment,— "that  th'  hatchet  is  not  only 
for  choppin'  th'  kindlin'-wood.  'T  is  th'  only 
protiction  I  have;  an'  I  will  have  no  edge  on 
it  for  th '  burglars.  I  w  'u  'd  be  wantin '  to  shtun 
thim  aisy.  If  't  was  th'  kind  that  w'u'd  draw 
th'  blood,  I  w'u'd  not  have  th'  heart  to  do  it." 

To  this  Michael  was  unable  to  reply.    Giving 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  31 

the  implement  another  critical  examination,  he 
continued  to  hack  at  the  wood  with  breaking 
blows.  When  he  came  in  with  the  splintered 
reward  of  his  labor  he  saw  that  she  had  put 
the  "skittle"  on  the  hot  end  of  the  stove,  and 
he  disappeared  into  the  other  part  of  the  house 
while  she  made  further  preparation  for  his 
1  *  af ther-dinner  breakfast. ' ' 

As  Mrs.  Finerty  busied  herself  she  heard  a 
sound  as  of  stamping  and  stumbling;  and  as 
it  kept  up  with  a  sort  of  regularity  she  aban- 
doned her  cooking  to  look  through  the  door 
of  the  middle  room.  Michael  was  standing  in 
the  center  of  the  room,  making  experimental 
tappings  and  stampings  with  his  feet,  stopping 
and  starting  over  again  repeatedly,  and  main- 
taining an  upright  clog-step  posture  with  his 
head  well  up,  but  his  eyes  bent  down,  as  if, 
to  use  her  expression,  "he  did  not  want  his 
fate  to  notice  that  he  was  lookin'  at  thim." 

"What  are  ye  up  to,  Michael?" 

"I  'm  thryin'  this,"  he  replied,  executing  a 
cross-step.  "  'T  is  th'  fine  shtep,  c'u'd  I  get 
it.  I  think  I  now  have  it."  And  to  exhibit 
it  to  her  he  attacked  the  movement  in  such 
style  that  he  set  the  house  rattling.  As  the 
flimsy  floor  began  to  quake,  Mrs.  Finerty  made 
a  sudden  dash  across  the  room. 


32  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"Th'  china  duck!"  she  exclaimed  in  alarm. 
"WDUCK!  Shtop  it  quick!"  And  by  the  time 
Michael  had  seized  the  situation  and  checked 
himself,  she  grabbed  it  from  the  edge  of  the 
shelf  and  had  it  safely  in  her  hand. 

"'T  will  be  broke  yet  wid  th'  foolishness. 
Th'  other  night,  whin  ye  had  young  Barney 
over  here  doin'  his  jiggin'  for  th'  company,  I 
looked  up  jist  in  time,  for  there  was  th'  duck 
shwimmin'  off  th'  what-not.  'T  is  th'  second 
time  I  have  saved  it,"  she  commented,  as  she 
set  it  where  it  could  swim  safely  in  the  middle 
of  the  flowered  bed.  "We  '11  be  losin'  it  yet," 
she  continued.  "An'  Agnes  says  't  is  th'  finest 
piece  av  brick-a-bat  we  have." 

Before  Michael  could  make  any  extenuating 
remarks  on  his  "foolishness,"  Mrs.  Finerty's 
experienced  nose  sensed  something  wrong  in 
the  kitchen,  and  she  hastened  to  the  rescue.  Mi- 
chael sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  wife's  bed, 
with  his  back  to  the  duck,  and  looked  about  in 
a  bereft  and  unresolved  state  of  mentality. 

"Come  on  out  now,"  said  Mrs.  Finerty, 
looking  in  through  the  door.  "Come  and  ate 
what  is  lift  av  th'  mate.  Ye  have  made  me 
burn  it.  An '  it  has  gone  up  half  a  cint— which 
is  good-by  to  th'  other  half  a  cint." 

Michael  placed  his  erring  feet  under  the 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  33 

table,  and  began  the  solemn  ceremonial  of  eat- 
ing the  singed  meat,  the  while  Mrs.  Finerty  sat 
down  opposite  to  have  her  daily  look  at  him. 

"What  is  it  that  has  put  th'  jiggin'  into  yer 
fate,  Michael,— an'  that  befure  ye  Ve  had  bite 
or  sup?" 

"  'T  is  a  sand-jig  that  wan  av  th'  byes  was 
showin'  me." 

"Faith,  't  is  little  ye  don't  know  about  sand, 
Michael." 

"Had  n't  I  ought  to?"  he  replied;  "an'  me 
bein'  guardeen  av  sand  now  for  sixteen  year. 
An'  befure  I  sint  for  ye  was  n't  I  tindin'  it  on 
th'  Santy  Fay,  where  't  was  nothin'  but  sand 
— an'  th'  desert  med  av  it.  'T  was  often  I  felt 
foolish  settin'  there  wid  me  little  houseful— 
an'  no  wan  but  mesilf  in  sight  as  far  as  I  c'u'd 
see.  'T  was  a  lucky  day  whin  I  quit  th'  job, 
for  I  c'u'd  niver  be  gettin'  away  from  me 
business.  Was  Agnes  a  bye,  I  'm  thinkin'  I  'd 
call  her  Sandy.  What  shtory  is  she  radin' 
now?" 

"  Th '  wan  of  thim  is  about '  Lola,  th '  Belle  av 
th'  Bindery.'  An' jukes  an'  countesses.  I  have 
read  a  few  worruds  out  av  it,  and  she  must 
shtop  that  wan.  F'r  there  is  a  countess  in  it 
that  can  be  doin'  nothin'  but  she  must  switch 
her  shkirt  an'  be  off  till  th'  grand  saloon.  'T  is 


34  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

bad  enough  for  ye  min  to  be  goin'  to  Rafferty's, 
without  weemen  comin'  till  it." 

Having  thus  been  led  into  a  subject  up  to 
his  chin,  Michael  had  to  close  his  mouth  and 
be  silent.  When  the  clock  struck  four  he 
looked  at  his  watch  to  see  what  time  it  was; 
then  he  donned  his  corduroy  coat  and  limp 
hat  and  departed  to  get  his  jury  money  from 
the  city,  and,  if  he  had  time,  to  see  Dennis,  the 
plain-clothesman  at  the  police  station,  who  was 
brother-in-law  to  Michael 's  cousin. 

Mrs.  Finerty  followed  him  to  the  gate,  call- 
ing after  him :  * '  Michael  dear !  Be  careful,  an ' 
don't  be  run  over  be  th'  pony-injine." 

By  half-past  seven  o  'clock,  Finerty  was  back 
at  the  yards,  and  making  his  way  along  the 
tracks.  He  stopped  where  a  rail  was  begin- 
ning to  feather  at  the  end  and  a  tie  had  grown 
uneasy  in  its  bed.  "There  's  another  thing  has 
got  to  be  fixed,"  he  soliloquized,  inspecting  it 
critically  with  his  foot.  He  contemplated  it  a 
while  and  then  proceeded  on  his  way,  as  if  the 
management  of  a  railroad  were  a  perplexing 
burden  to  carry  through  the  world.  Arriving 
at  the  sand-house,  he  unlocked  it  and  left  the 
hasp  hanging;  and  while  he  worked  around 
the  chutes  he  looked  up  occasionally  with  the 
interest  of  a  man  who  has  set  a  trap. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  35 

"Oh,  Halloran,"  said  Finerty  to  the  engi- 
neer of  Number  Twenty,  as  he  threw  on  the 
last  scoopful  of  coal  that  the  tender  would 
hold,  "d'  ye  know  that  me  daughther  Agnes 
is  a  great  wan  at  th'  bukes?" 

"  So  ? "  remarked  Halloran,  contriving  to  de- 
lay himself  with  unnecessary  work  around  the 
side-rods. 

"  Yis.  An'  whin  't  is  n't  bukes  't  is  th'  con- 
tinual-shtory  papers— but  there  's  manny  big 
worruds  in  thim.  How  she  raymimbers  thim 
all  I  dunno,  for  th'  way  they  are  printed  she 
won't  be  finished  wid  wan  till  she  '11  be  shtart- 
in'  another  wan  an'  her  different  ways 
through  all  th'  rist  av  thim.  I  'm  thinkin'  she 
has  more  brains  nor  th'  thrain-despatcher  to 
be  kapin'  thrack  av  thim— for  they  're  run- 
nin'  all  on  each  other's  time." 

As  Halloran  climbed  up  into  the  cab  Finerty 
followed  and  stayed  on  the  engine  while  she 
ran  up  the  track  to  "hook  on,"  himself  taking 
a  hand  at  the  bell  while  the  fireman  threw  in 
some  of  the  newly  acquired  coal. 

"Oh,  Halloran!"  he  shouted,  as  the  engine 
rumbled  along  and  swerved  onto  the  main 
track. 

"Yes,  Mike." 

"D'  ye  know  what  I  'm  goin'  to  make  av 


36  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

her  I ' ' — yelling  it  loud  enough  to  overcome  the 
tread  of  the  wheels  and  the  din  of  the  bell. 

"What?" 

"A  stinny grafter,"  he  answered,  checking 
the  bell  to  give  the  word  a  chance.  "An' 
there  '11  be  th'  way  av  gettin'  her  a  job  in  th' 
coort." 

He  attended  to  his  ringing  for  some  time, 
leaning  out  and  watching  the  track  ahead. 
Then  he  suddenly  drew  in  his  head  and  added : 
"  'T  is  her  w'u'd  have  th'  intilligince.  She  's 
th'  bist  in  school  in  algeberry."  At  this  he 
gave  the  bell  a  jerk  that  turned  it  a  complete 
somersault  and  caused  it  to  lose  tongue  as  he 
said  the  word.  And  then  he  was  silent  until 
Number  Twenty  had  coupled  up  to  the  train. 

"Yis,  Halloran,"  he  continued,  as  the  engi- 
neer got  down  with  the  oiler  and  made  final  in- 
spection for  the  run,  "  't  is  her  w'u'd  have  th' 
intilligince.  An'  she  can  write  compositions 
about  annything.  Th'  wan  av  thim  is  called, 
"T  is  a  Good  Wind  that  Blows  Nobody  HI.' 
An',  be  th'  same  token,  I  'm  thinkin'  't  was  a 
good  wan  that  put  me  intil  th'  jury  business. 
'T  was  there  I  saw  th'  stinny graf tin '.  There 
was  a  fine  bit  av  a  girl  that  c'u'd  take  th' 
worruds  right  out  av  yer  mouth— an'  I  was 
talkin'  till  her.  So  I  asked  her  to  put  down 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  37 

wan  worrud  while  I  c'u'd  see  her  do  it.  'Will 
ye  jist  write  down  me?'  says  I.  An'  d'  ye 
know,  Halloran,  she  made  a  dot  wid  an  eye- 
brow on  it,  an'  there  't  was  lookin'  right  at  ye. 
'T  was  quick  as  a  wink. ' ' 

"I  think  there  's  a  hobo  in  the  sand-house, 
Mike,"  said  Halloran.  "You  'd  better  look  in 
when  you  go  back." 

*  "T  is  me  that  knows  it, ' '  said  Michael. 
"  'T  is  wan  I  '11  have  divertin'  me  th'  night." 


CHAPTER  III 

|  HAT  evening,  Mrs.  Michael 
Finerty  came  down  the  tracks 
of  the  Memphis  *  *  yards, ' '  bear- 
ing on  her  arm  Michael's  big 
bright  dinner-pail,  which 
winked  familiarly  at  the 
switch-lights  as  it  passed.  As  regularly  as  the 
sun  went  down,  Michael's  pail,  being  destined 
to  shine  at  night,  took  on  a  brilliance  of  its  own 
from  the  rubbing  of  brick-dust  which  she  gave 
it  before  it  received  those  two  large  nameless 
meals  which  Michael  consumed  between  night- 
fall and  morning.  She  was  bound  for  the 
little  sand-house. 

The  sand-house  and  the  coal-chutes,  stilted 
and  somber,  were  situated  on  the  Memphis 
levee  where  the  tracks  run  parallel  with  the 
river.  The  house  itself  was  about  fifteen  feet 
square.  The  bank  of  drying  sand  occupied 
about  half  this  area,  being  held  back  at  its  base 
by  a  board ;  and  in  the  middle  of  the  other  half 

38 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  39 

was  the  stove.  The  coal-box  and  the  bucket  oc- 
cupied the  two  remaining  corners.  It  being 
necessary  for  the  sand  to  flow  freely  through 
the  pipe  whenever  the  engineer  opens  the  valve, 
it  is  kept  so  dry  that  a  handful  will  escape 
through  the  fingers  as  steadily  as  the  flow  of 
an  hour-glass.  And  many  a  tramp,  having 
knowledge  of  the  prosperous  railway  stove 
that  dwelt  therein,  would  approach  Finerty 
during  the  cold  spells  that  occasionally  in- 
vade even  the  balmy  clime  of  Tennessee ;  know- 
ing which,  Mrs.  Finerty  had  worried  until  the 
idea  of  tramps  had  become  the  bane  of  her 
life.  When  she  woke  up  in  her  bed  at  night 
it  would  be  to  worry  about  Michael  braving 
death  between  tramps  and  locomotives. 

But  Finerty,  not  being  alive  to  danger, 
would  parley  with  them  if  it  suited  his  fancy ; 
and  sometimes  he  would  inspect  the  horny 
palm  that  was  usually  extended  in  proof  that 
the  applicant  was  in  the  habit  of  working. 
Thus  he  had  truly  predicted  so  many  a  man's 
fate  that  he  prided  himself  on  being  quite 
a  "hand-rader."  It  was  Halloran  who  used 
to  tell  tales  of  Finerty 's  feats  in  prescience. 
"Ye  are  a  man  av  an  aisy-goin'  dispo- 
sition, an'  nothin'  is  like  to  worry  ye  much  till 
ye  feel  it.  Ye  have  come  from  a  distance,  an' 


40  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

ye  are  goin'  on  a  journey.  An1  if  ye  don't 
shtart  soon  ye  '11  be  recayvin '  a  prisint  from  a 
man  about  my  size." 

When  Mrs.  Finerty  had  arrived  at  the  sand- 
house,  which  goal  she  had  kept  steadily  in  eye, 
she  set  the  bucket  on  the  bench  outside  and 
began  to  touch  up  her  person  primly.  Having 
assured  herself,  by  stroking  her  palms  on  her 
head,  that  no  hairs  had  strayed  from  their  slick 
arrangement,  accurately  parted,  she  folded  her 
arms  and  composed  herself  in  the  knowledge 
that  she  would  be  presentable  to  any  of  the 
yard-hands  that  might  chance  to  pass. 

"Yis,"  she  replied  to  a  switchman  who 
greeted  her,  "I  have  brought  it  mesilf  th' 
night.  Michael  was  goin'  up  t'  th'  station  t' 
see  Dinnis,  th'  plain-clothesman,— he  that  is 
brother-in-law  t'  Michael's  cousin,— an'  thin 
he  was  goin' t'  thry  t'  get  his  jury  money  from 
th'  city,  which  has  now  been  owin'  him  four 
months.  He  has  served  for  thim  five  times 
a 'ready;  an'  if  they  don't  be  payin'  up  I  '11 
have  him  shtop  worrukin'  at  it." 

Noticing  that  the  door  of  the  sand-house  was 
unlocked,  she  pulled  it  open  by  the  hasp  and 
went  in  and  set  the  bucket  by  the  warm  stove. 
What  was  her  amazement,  when  she  looked 
about  in  the  faint  light  of  the  glowing  stove, 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  41 

to  see  the  figure  of  a  man  reclining  half-way  up 
the  side  of  the  steep  sand-pile !  He  was  lying 
full  length  on  his  back,  with  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head;  and  he  was  looking  down  on 
things  below  in  evident  content  of  his  superior 
advantages.  When  Mrs.  Finerty  looked  him 
over  curiously,  trying  to  see  how  he  rested  with 
such  easy  security  on  such  an  impossible  place, 
she  observed  that  one  leg  was  driven  to  the 
knee  in  the  sand,  anchoring  him,  as  it  were,  to 
the  unstable  declivity.  But  where  he  got  the 
power  to  drive  it  in  like  that  was  a  more  strik- 
ing mystery.  The  man  ventured  an  uncertain 
smile.  Mrs.  Finerty  immediately  took  up  her 
bucket  and  gave  him  another  moment  of  very 
foreign  contemplation.  And  when  the  two  had 
made  a  mutual  exchange  of  silence,  she 
marched  out  of  the  door  again,  closed  it  behind 
her,  and  stood  waiting  in  the  chill  air. 

Having  waited  what  seemed  a  long  time  to 
her,  she  went  over  to  the  chutes  to  look  about, 
thinking  that  perchance  her  husband  had  gone 
there  directly  on  his  return.  But  he  had  not 
appeared ;  and  already  she  noticed  among  the 
day  men  premonitions  of  the  moment  for  quit- 
ting work.  After  a  few  minutes  she  began  to  be 
visibly  perturbed.  She  walked  a  short  distance 
down  the  tracks,  looking  before  her  as  if  she 


42  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

expected  to  find  traces  of  Michael  on  every  tie, 
and  looking  back  apprehensively  now  and  then 
to  assure  herself  that  she  was  not  in  the  road 
of  the  switch-engine.  ' '  The  pony-injine, ' '  she 
often  declared, ' '  is  too  sof t-f utted  to  be  allowed 
in  a  yard  where  th'  childer  do  be  playinV 
When  she  got  back  to  the  chutes  after  her  aim- 
less walk,  eight  o'clock  was  ominously  near, 
and  still  Michael  had  not  come.  She  hurried 
across  the  tracks  to  the  sand-house  again,  mak- 
ing inquiries  of  every  "hand"  she  met.  Here 
she  took  her  final  stand  beside  the  shining  pail, 
looking  solemnly  at  the  tracks,  with  her  needle- 
marked  finger  pressed  to  the  corner  of  her 
mouth,  and  expressing  her  fears  to  the  switch- 
man and  several  of  the  * '  day  min. ' ' 

"I  have  th'  feelin'  that  somethin'  has  hap- 
pened him.  What  is  kapin '  him  from  worruk  is 
nothin'  nathral.  He  has  n't  been  late  for  six 
year  come  th'  sivinteenth  av  nixt  Mar-r-r-ch. 
I  was  thinkin'  he  'd  be  back  in  time  to  have  a 
cup  av  tay  to  nourish  him.  'T  w  'u  'd  give  him 
sthren'th  to  coal  up  Number  Twinty-wan." 

At  that  instant  the  "  sof t-f utted "  pony-en- 
gine added  itself  to  her  audience,  and  Finerty 
stepped  off  the  foot-board  with  a  package  in 
his  hand.  Giving  his  wife  a  quick  glance,  he 
slapped  the  package  down  on  the  bench;  and 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  43 

while  he  gave  the  pony-engine  a  "go-ahead" 
signal  with  one  hand,  the  other  reached  out  and 
grabbed  the  shovel  at  exactly  eight  o'clock. 
And  he  was  away  with  the  tool  of  his  trade  on 
his  shoulder. 

"Michael,"  she  called  after  him,  "what  was 
ailin'ye?" 

' '  Don 't  be  hinderin '  me, ' '  he  called  back,  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand ;  "  I  have  me  worruk  to  do. ' ' 

And  indeed  he  had ;  for  the  engineer  of  Num- 
ber Twenty-one  had  just  brought  her  to  a  well- 
calculated  stop  at  the  chutes,  and  the  air  was 
in  a  tremor  for  a  block  around  as  her  vibrant 
boilers  trembled  like  a  racer  before  the  start. 
Mrs.  Finerty  sat  down  in  company  of  the  tin 
bucket,  to  which  she  knew  he  must  inevitably 
return.  "When  Number  Twenty-one  had  been 
coaled  up  and  seen  off,  he  came  ambling  lei- 
surely across  the  tracks ;  and,  having  arrived  at 
the  bench,  he  seated  himself  on  the  other  side 
of  the  tin  pail.  Mrs.  Finerty  held  her  peace  for 
a  while,  taking  in  shrewdly  that  some  of  the 
men  who  were  loitering  about  seemed  to  have 
a  curiosity  as  to  her  family  affairs.  But  seeing 
that  they  did  not  depart,  she  began : 

' '  What  has  happened  till  ye,  Michael  ? ' ' 

"What  has  happened?"  he  replied  equivo- 
cally, having  also  an  eye  to  the  audience,  whom 


44  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

he  would  in  nowise  have  think  that  he  was  a 
henpecked  man. 

"That  ye  were  nearly  late,  Michael." 

"Nearly  late!'  'Tis  that  th'  superintindent 
w  'u  'd  promote  ye  for.  He  w  'u  'd  call  it  roonin ' 
on  time." 

Michael  very  deliberately  produced  an  ab- 
breviated pipe  from  an  inside  pocket,  and,  hav- 
ing filled  it,  he  packed  it  methodically  with  the 
head  of  a  nail  that  he  picked  out  of  the  cinders 
before  the  door.  Mrs.  Finerty,  seeing  how  the 
land  lay,  now  turned  her  attention  to  inspecting 
the  package;  and  she  brought  to  light  three 
slices  of  bread  and  a  link  of  smoked  sausage. 
This  disclosure  forced  him  immediately  out  of 
his  equivocation. 

"Well,  I  will  tell  ye,"  he  said.  "I  had  th' 
pony  run  me  down  opposite  RafYerty's  place 
whilst  I  w'u'd  be  goin'  in  an'  takin'  some  av 
his  free  lunch  f 'r  th'  thramp." 

"A  thramp!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Finerty, 
bridling  up  and  looking  fixedly.  "Is  he 
that?  What  has  come  over  ye,  Michael?" 

"What  has  come  over  me!"  he  replied, 
assuming  his  mood  again. 

"That  ye  sh'u'd  be  kapin'  a  thramp!  Af- 
ther  ye  promisin'  me  ye  w'u'd  niver  take  in  a 
single  wan  av  thim." 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  45 

"Right  ye  are!"  said  Michael,  striking  a 
match,  as  if  by  way  of  emphasis.  "An'  so  I 
will  not.  He  is  only  three  quarthers  av  a  wan. ' ' 

He  took  a  philosophic  puff  or  two,  as  if  this 
settled  the  case  beyond  rebuttal.  "Come  on, 
now,  and  have  yer  say  about  it, ' '  he  said,  lead- 
ing the  way  into  the  sand-house  and  shutting 
the  door  by  way  of  privacy.  He  threw  open 
the  doors  of  the  stove  for  illumination,  and  the 
two  stood  looking  at  the  elevated  stranger  as 
if  he  were  a  picture  hung  up  for  their  critical 
inspection. 

'  *  Tell  us,  now,  did  ye  iver  do  anny  worruk?' ' 
said  Finerty. 

"Why,  yes;  I  was  tellin'  you  I—"  began  the 
wanderer,  extending  down  the  calloused  hand 
that  he  thought  was  expected  of  him. 

"Ye  nade  not  be  showin'  us  that  at  all," 
said  Mrs.  Finerty,  giving  her  head  a  perverse 
turn.  "Manny  av  yees  get  that  from  hangin' 
on  th'  rods." 

"Hand  us  yer  leg,"  said  Finerty,  peremp- 
torily. 

The  vagrant  put  his  hands  to  his  knee  and 
pulled  out  that  part  of  himself  that  had  been 
serving  as  a  post  in  the  sand-pile;  and,  deftly 
undoing  a  buckle  or  two,  he  handed  down  the 
wooden  member. 


46  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"Now  d'ye  see,  Marg'retl"  said  Finerty, 
taking  it  in  his  hand  and  putting  his  fore- 
finger on  a  part  of  the  peg-leg.  "  D '  ye  see 
th'  saw-marks  on  it— like  on  th'  sthraddle- 
beam  av  a  sawbuck?  'T  is  this  leg  he  holds  th' 
shticks  wid,  an'  't  is  from  th'  saw  slippin'  sud- 
dent-like.  'T  is  for  that  I  have  let  him  in." 
Then,  after  a  pause  and  a  look  of  seriousness 
that  was  only  a  smile  in  disguise,  he  added: 
"An'  if  he  was  n't  th'  bright  boy  he  might  'a' 
sawed  aff  his  leg. ' ' 

But  this  was  entirely  lost  on  Mrs.  Finerty, 
who  was  absorbed  in  considering  the  man  him- 
self, the  other  half  of  his  leg  being  of  more 
import  to  her  than  the  one  that  Finerty  held. 
The  tramp  now  had  both  hands  dug  into  the 
sand  to  keep  himself  from  sliding  down  to 
their  feet,  and  he  returned  her  gaze  with  a 
humorous  expression  of  doubt  and  apprecia- 
tion. And  there  was  that  in  his  blue  eyes— 
which  Mrs.  Finerty  regarded  especially— 
which  showed  that  he  was  rather  disposed  to 
side  with  the  world  in  any  jovial  view  it  might 
take  of  his  misfortune. 

"I  '11  not  be  sayin'  anny thing  at  all,  Mi- 
chael, ' '  she  finally  concluded.  '  "T  is  ye  that 
runs  th'  sand-house."  And  when  they  had 
gone  out  she  added,  as  she  took  her  leave,  *  *  He 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  47 

hasn't  a  bad  eye  in  his  head.  Annyway,  I  '11 
not  have  it  on  me  to  be  puttin'  a  wan-legged 
bye  out  in  th'  cold." 

When  Finerty  had  given  sand  and  coal  to 
Number  Twenty-two,  he  returned  to  the  warm 
sand-house  to  avail  himself  of  an  "  aisy  spell. ' ' 
Having  hung  his  lantern  in  the  corner,  he 
turned  the  bucket  upside  down  and  seated  him- 
self on  it.  Then  he  brought  forth  the  short- 
stemmed  clay  pipe  and  filled  it  with  scrapings 
from  various  pockets.  As  he  threw  his  head 
back  to  avoid  the  flames  of  the  sulphur  match 
so  close  to  his  face,  he  regarded  his  lone  guest, 
and  stopped  puffing  long  enough  to  remark: 
"'Tis  th'  handy  leg  ye  have,  th'  way  ye  are 
usin'  it." 

'  *  Yes,  it  is.  And  it  ought  to  be  a  famous  leg, 
too,  considering  how  much  it  got  into  the  news- 
papers a  few  years  back.  There  was  one  paper 
that  had  it, '  Human  Brute  Holds  Up  Four  Citi- 
zens with  a  Club.'  And  the  carriage-shop 
being  broken  into  that  night  made  it  all  the 
worse.  Another  paper  said  it  was  a  *  Carnival 
of  Crime. '  But  Bill  was  n't  doing  things  polite 
just  then.  He  was  about  disgusted  with  having 
to  dodge  around  the  country  ready  to  fight 
the  police  all  the  time.  This  leg  was  the  spoke 
of  a  barouche.  It  was  polished  till  you  could 


48  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

see  your  nose  in  it,  with  a  green  stripe  down  the 
side.  It  was  a  Sunday-go-to-meetin '  leg  about 
eight  years  ago.  But  it  is  about  worn  out,  and 
I  wish  I  knew  where  Bill  is  now.  I  think  that 
if  he  made  me  another  it  wouldn't  be  such  a 
long  story." 

"Is  ther'  a  shtory  to  it?"  said  Finerty,  tak- 
ing out  his  Brobdingnagian  watch  and  staring 
into  the  face  of  it,  to  calculate  how  much  time 
he  had  to  spare.  Settling  himself  with  his  el- 
bows on  his  knees,  he  looked  up  and  simply 
remarked,  "We  will  be  havin'  th'  shtory." 


CHAPTER  IV 

ND  "Stumpy,"  knowing  what 
was  required  of  him  in  return 
for  the  lodging,  began: 

"Bill  was  a  partner  of  mine. 
At  the  time  I  met  him  they 
wanted  him  in  New  Orleans  for 
a  murder— which  he  didn't  do.  Bill  was  a 
natural  mechanic  and  an  all-round  workman. 
When  he  got  into  trouble  he  was  doing  some 
blacksmith  work  on  the  brig  Lion,  a  Liverpool 
vessel  that  had  come  within  an  inch  of  being 
lost  rounding  the  Horn.  Lying  next  to  the 
Lion  was  the  bark  Betsy  of  Boston.  Bill  be- 
came friends  with  the  bo  Vn  of  the  Betsy,  and 
they  used  to  go  out  evenings  together.  The 
boVn  was  a  bad-tempered  one  when  things 
did  n't  go  right;  but  mostly  he  was  a  good  fel- 
low, except  when  he  had  too  much  whisky 
aboard.  One  day  he  was  in  a  bad  state  of  mind 
for  a  good  many  reasons,  and  he  was  mad  at 
the  captain.  And  then  the  weather  went 

4  49 


50  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

against  him.  When  he  was  painting  some  can- 
vas on  top  of  the  galley  it  began  to  rain.  That 
did  n't  suit  him  at  all  and  he  got  madder  and 
madder.  He  would  stop  painting  and  shake 
his  brush  at  the  sky  like  he  was  trying  to  pick 
a  quarrel  with  it,  yelling, '  Rain,  damn  ye ;  rain ! 
That 's  it;  rain!'  Then  he  would  take  a  drink 
and  cuss  more.  But  he  wouldn't  stop  paint- 
ing. He  'd  rassle  the  rolling  raindrops  around 
on  the  greasy  paint  and  dab  it  all  in  and 
cuss." 

"Ye  w'u'd  n't  be  gettin'  th'  best  av  that 
felly  if  he  had  a  fair  show/'  remarked  Fin- 
erty. 

"This  fellow,"  continued  Stumpy,  "was 
named  Tiffin;  and  he  used  to  drink  his  water 
out  of  a  'monkey'— a  sort  of  stoneware  tea- 
kettle with  a  cork  atop  of  it  instead  of  a  lid,  such 
as  they  use  for  sailors  to  drink  out  of  at  sea. 
For  a  sailor  can't  very  well  drink  out  of  a  bucket 
with  a  tin  cup  when  she  's  rolling  hard  and 
pitching— fresh  water  being  too  valuable  to  be 
spilled  around.  And  Tiffin  was  so  used  to  it 
that  he  could  hold  the  monkey  about  six  inches 
above  his  face,  and  pour  a  stream  straight 
down  into  his  stomach  without  spilling  a  drop 
or  stopping  to  swallow.  He  liked  his  whisky 
straight  out  of  the  bottle,  and  would  drink  it 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  51 

in  the  same  way.  On  this  day  he  had  whisky 
mixed  with  the  water." 

"Th'  wather  was  more  vallyble  at  that,"  re- 
marked Finerty. 

"When  it  stopped  raining  he  stopped  work- 
ing. Then  he  came  over  to  the  Betsy's  wharf 
to  tell  his  troubles  to  Bill,  carrying  the  whisky 
and  water  under  his  arm.  Because  Bill  would 
n't  take  a  drink  with  him  he  hauled  off  and 
hit  Bill  a  welt  in  the  forehead  with  the  monkey. 
But  it  struck  on  the  cork,  driving  it  in  without 
doing  Bill  much  damage.  Bill  was  n't  the  kind 
that  liked  fighting  just  for  the  sake  of  it;  but 
when  he  was  caught  suddenly  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  the  devil  in  him,  and  if  he  got  started  on 
any  kind  of  a  job  he  would  be  bound  to  see  it 
through.  He  hit  the  bo 's  'n  a  welt  in  the  nose, 
and  then  took  after  him  with  a  cotton-hook, 
never  saying  a  word— but  looking  it.  Just  as 
he  put  the  cotton-hook  through  the  bo's'n's 
coat-tail,  Tiffin  tore  away  and  dodged  into  the 
galley,  where  he  shut  himself  in.  Bill  pounded 
the  door  of  the  galley  with  his  fist  and  tried  to 
break  it  open,  until  the  crew  came  to  the  rescue. 
As  they  dragged  him  off  the  ship  Bill  kept 
shaking  his  fist  at  the  galley  and  telling  what 
he  would  do  to  the  bo 's  'n. 

"This  Tiffin  used  to  roll  aboard  late  at  night 


52  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

and  sleep  in  the  galley  whenever  the  cook  had 
a  night  off.  The  cook's  bunk  was  a  sort  of 
shelf  fastened  to  the  wall  with  hinges,  and  it 
was  a  cool  place  for  the  mate  to  sleep  with  the 
doors  open.  On  the  morning  after  the  fight 
the  bo  Vn  was  gone.  One  of  his  old  shirts,  all 
torn  and  bloody,  showed  that  he  had  slept  in 
the  galley.  And  there  were  spots  of  blood  that 
led  out  of  the  door  and  over  the  side  of  the 
ship— the  offshore  side.  It  didn't  take  them 
long  to  calculate  that  Tiffin's  body  was  on  its 
way  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  And  when  three 
policemen  got  the  best  of  Bill  and  took  him  up 
to  the  jail  and  searched  him,  they  didn't  have 
to  think  long  before  they  made  up  their  minds 
who  had  done  it. 

' '  Tiffin  had  a  brass-handled  knife  and  a  coin 
that  was  a  pocket-piece.  The  coin  had  three 
legs  on  it  running  like  a  wheel.  He  got  it  in 
the  Isle  of  Man.  He  hai  carried  it  for  years, 
and  he  showed  it  whenever  he  got  to  talking 
about  his  voyages.  They  found  the  knife  and 
the  coin  in  Bill 's  pocket.  When  they  asked  him 
about  the  knife  he  told  them  he  had  borrowed  it 
from  Tiffin ;  but  when  they  brought  out  the  coin 
Bill  hadn't  a  word  to  say.  All  he  could  say 
was  that  he  did  n't  know  how  it  could  have  got 
into  his  pocket ;  it  was  a  mystery  to  him." 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  53 

"They  'd  be  thinkin'  'twas  runnin'  in  on  its 
three  legs— for  to  help  the  knife  whittle  a 
shtick, ' '  said  Finerty,  significantly.  *  *  'T  is 
that  th'  police  have  a  way  av  thinkin'." 

"The  long  and  short  of  it  was,"  continued 
Stumpy,  "that  he  was  held  over  to  the  grand 
jury." 

"And  are  yez  thryin'  to  tell  me  this  felly 
didn't  kill  th'  bo's'n  av  th'  ship?  'T  is  that 
ye  were  sayin'  when  ye  shtarted,"  said  Fin- 
erty, shrewdly. 

"That  's  what  I  did  say." 

"An'  'twas  him  that  was  tellin'  ye." 

' '  Whether  it  was  him  that  was  telling  me  or 
not,  that 's  how  it  was.  He  took  up  with  me 
for  a  partner,  and  I  knew  he  didn't  kill  him 
because  he  told  me  so.  It  was  a  puzzle  to 
him.  But  what  I  started  to  tell  is  how  he 
got  me  this  leg." 

"Verra  well.  Don't  let  me  be  hindtherin' 
ye." 

"As  I  was  saying,  Bill  was  put  in  jail  and 
held  over  to  the  grand  jury.  He  sat  in  jail  and 
contented  himself  a  couple  of  weeks,  hoping 
that  some  day  they  would  find  who  killed  Tiffin 
and  let  him  out.  But  nothing  turned  up ;  and 
he  began  to  see  that  it  was  not  likely  that  they 
would  do  much  to  help  him,  because  they  had 


54  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

their  minds  made  up  that  they  had  caught  the 
murderer.  And  Bill,  when  he  studied  it  over 
and  thought  what  he  would  say  to  the  jury, 
made  up  his  mind  that  if  he  was  on  the  jury 
himself  in  the  same  kind  of  a  case,  he  would 
say,  Guilty.  Every  way  he  looked  at  it  he 
couldn't  see  anything  but  a  sure  case.  And 
every  day  he  saw  he  was  getting  to  be  more  of 
a  criminal  to  the  rest  of  them  just  by  sitting 
in  the  cage  holding  his  hands  together.  And 
sitting  idle  like  that  came  hard  on  him,  anyway, 
because  he  was  always  used  to  being  at  work 
on  some  kind  of  a  hard  job.  Bill  could  always 
hold  a  job  in  almost  any  kind  of  a  shop,  and 
nothing  pleased  him  better  than  to  be  put  at 
something  that  had  puzzled  the  rest  of  them. 
Then  he  would  show  them  some  trick  that  they 
hadn't  heard  of.  As  Bill  used  to  say,  'It  's 
the  little  things  that  count. '  And  he  had  got  to 
be  a  whole  cyclopedia  of  wrinkles  from  what 
he  had  thought  out  himself  and  what  he  had 
learned  from  traveling  around.  And  what  he 
hadn't  seen  he  'd  think  of.  And  if  it  was  a 
risky  thing  to  be  done  Bill  would  sail  in,  for  he 
wasn't  afraid  of  anything  as  long  as  it  was  a 
job  of  work." 

''Some  av  thim  is  mighty  scared  av  that," 
remarked  Finerty,  significantly. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  55 

"I  remember  one  time  he  got  a  job  fixing  a 
broken  shaft  on  a  stern-wheeler.  One  of  the 
helpers  dropped  the  monkey-wrench  into  the 
river  about  twenty  feet  from  shore— a  big 
wrench  two  feet  long.  Bill  threw  off  his  shoes 
and  dived  in  after  it  while  the  rest  were  trying 
to  tell  him  he  might  be  drifted  under  the  boat. 
While  they  were  standing  ready  to  give  him  a 
hand  if  he  came  up,  and  thinking  what  a  fool 
he  was  to  go  after  a  chunk  of  iron  he  could  n't 
rise  with,  Bill  called  to  them  from  the  shore 
with  the  wrench  across  his  shoulder.  He  had 
walked  ashore  on  bottom  with  it,  not  having 
to  crawl  more  than  eight  or  ten  feet  before  he 
could  stand  up  with  his  head  out.  Then  he 
went  to  work  as  if  he  did  such  things  every  day. 

"But,  as  I  was  about  to  say,  when  he  had 
thought  over  the  trial  until  he  saw  plainly  that 
there  was  no  way  out  of  it  but  being  hung,  ac- 
cording to  law,  he  made  up  his  mind  he  might 
as  well  die  by  shooting  as  by  hanging.  Anyway, 
he  had  loafed  as  long  as  he  could  stand  it.  His 
mind  had  been  working  on  the  cell  at  times 
when  he  wasn't  particularly  intending  to  get 
out,  for  his  brains  had  to  be  always  working 
on  a  job.  And  now  that  it  was  a  case  of  live  or 
die,  he  set  about  it.  First  he  got  the  steel 
springs  out  of  the  soles  of  his  shoes.  Then  he 


56  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

went  to  work  at  his  heel-plates.  Bill  used  to 
run  his  shoes  over  at  the  heel,  and  he  did  n  't 
like  the  soft  iron  plates  sold  in  the  stores,  he- 
cause  they  wore  out  on  stone  as  quick  as  lea- 
ther. So  he  made  himself  a  pair  out  of  a  file 
which  he  had  softened  up  so  that  he  could  shape 
and  hore  it,  and  then  tempered  again,  glass- 
hard.  That  was  how  he  had  the  face  of  a  good 
file  on  the  inner  side  of  his  heel-plates.  With 
the  steel  springs  he  unscrewed  them  and  turned 
them  over  and  screwed  them  on  his  shoes  again, 
so  that  he  had  two  files  with  good  solid  handles. 
Then  he  went  to  work  with  the  two  files,  and 
the  knife  and  the  saw  he  had  made  from  the 
springs.  Bill  used  to  say  that  the  rest  of  the 
job  of  breaking  out  of  jail  was  n't  half  as  hard 
as  breaking  into  the  in-soles  of  his  shoes  with  a 
piece  of  steak-bone  to  get  something  to  start 
with." 

"I  have  seen  shteak,"  remarked  Finerty, 
"that  w'u'd  be  as  ha-ard  to  break  into  befure 
he  did  that." 

"One  night,"  continued  Stumpy,  "when 
everything  was  right,  he  got  out  of  the  cell  and 
ran  to  a  side  passage  where  there  was  a  door 
that  opened  into  a  blind  hallway.  The  door  was 
locked.  He  cut  around  the  edge  of  the  panel 
where  it  was  thinnest,  making  a  V-shaped  slit, 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  57 

the  way  a  Norwegian  wood-carver  does.  It  was 
a  soft  panel,  and  in  about  two  times  round  he 
had  it  out  and  laid  it  on  the  floor  as  soft  as 
serving  a  pancake  for  breakfast.  At  the  end  of 
the  hall  he  found  there  was  a  window.  It  was 
swelled  and  jammed  so  tight  he  could  n't  raise 
it.  On  the  floor  was  an  old  awning  and  a  bucket 
of  asphaltum  that  the  painters  had  been  using. 
He  cut  a  piece  out  of  the  canvas  and  gave  it  a 
coat  of  the  sticky  asphaltum.  Then  he  pasted 
it  up  like  wall-paper  against  the  glass,  leaving 
a  tuck  in  the  middle  of  the  canvas.  By  the 
time  he  had  untied  an  iron  pulley  from  the 
awning  the  asphaltum  was  set.  He  tapped  the 
glass  once  with  the  sharp  edge  of  the  pulley, 
starting  it  to  crack.  Then  he  took  hold  of  the 
tuck  in  the  middle  of  the  canvas  and  pulled  out 
the  pane,  breaking  it  to  bits,  without  dropping 
a  piece  or  making  any  noise.  He  rolled  up  the 
window-pane  and  threw  it  down  a  narrow 
place  between  two  walls ;  for  just  then  the  dev- 
ilment came  over  him  to  have  the  police  won- 
dering how  a  window  could  be  broken  out  with- 
out a  noise  and  no  glass  around.  He  dropped 
to  the  roof  of  another  building,  slid  down  the 
legs  of  a  cistern  to  the  alley,  and  started  north. ' ' 
1  'Is  this  shtory  supposed  to  be  thrue?" 
queried  Finerty. 


58  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"Of  course.  I  'm  just  telling  you  what  he 
did,  so  that  you  will  understand  the  rest. ' ' 

"Th'  legs  av  a  wha-a-atf"  said  Finerty, 
withdrawing  his  pipe  for  the  nonce. 

' '  Of  a  cistern.  You  see,  in  New  Orleans  the 
cisterns  are  all  up  on  props  in  the  air  because 
they  can't  dig  in  the  ground.  It  is  below  the 
level  of  the  river." 

'  *  Go  on  wid  yer  shtory, ' '  said  Finerty. 


CHAPTER  V 

T  that  time  I  had  a  job  watch- 
ing a  coal-barge  that  the  Vine- 
land  had  dropped  ashore  about 
fifteen  miles  below  Memphis  in 
the  Arkansaw  woods.  In  those 
days  I  used  to  be  always  look- 
ing out  for  a  job  of  work,  thinking  I  would 
strike  something  steady.  I  had  n't  found  out 
that  there  was  n't  any  use  in  me  trying  to 
get  ahead.  I  had  got  on  the  Vineland  at 
St.  Louis  to  work  around  the  cabin  and  peel 
potatoes,  without  any  pay  except  my  keep  and 
the  ride  to  New  Orleans.  The  Vineland  was 
one  of  the  big  boats  that  push  the  wheat-barges 
down  the  Mississippi— those  big  barges  that 
look  like  Noah 's  Arks,  lashed  together  by  twos 
in  a  train  with  the  power-boat  pushing  them 
from  behind  with  her  flat  nose. ' ' 

"'Tis  like  railroadin'  on  the  river,"  said 
Finerty. 

"  The  Vinelandwas  loaded  down  to  the  water- 
*     59 


60  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

line  with  the  weight  of  her  own  machinery,  and 
the  coal-barges  were  lashed  along  her  sides,  as 
she  made  the  twelve-hundred-mile  trip.  One 
day  when  she  dropped  an  empty,  the  captain 
told  me  that  watching  a  barge  would  be  a  good 
job  for  a  one-legged  fellow,  and  he  would  give 
me  a  chance  to  make  a  couple  of  dollars.  And 
that  was  how  I  came  to  be  lying  there  with 
plenty  of  provisions  in  the  Arkansaw  woods, 
about  fifteen  miles  from  anywheres. 

"One  evening,  when  I  was  sitting  on  the 
barge  feeling  lonesome  and  looking  ahead  on 
two  more  weeks  of  the  same  kind  of  life,  there 
came  a  fellow  out  of  the  woods  who  looked  tired 
and  hungry. 

1 '  '  Good  evening,  captain, '  said  he. 

"  'Evening,'  said  I. 

11  'How  's  navigation?'  said  he. 

' '  '  Rather  slow, '  said  I.  '  Do  you  live  around 
these  parts— or  are  you  hunting?' 

"  'Well, you  might  say  I  'm  hunting, 'said  he. 
'You  don't  happen  to  know  where  I  could  find 
a  piece  of  bread  and  butter,— in  change  for  a 
good  pipe  of  tobacco,  do  you  I* 

"  'Sure  thing,'  said  I.  'But  where  are  you 
from  and  where  are  you  going?' 

"'Well,  I'll  tell  you,  partner,'  said  he. 
'I  've  just  escaped  from  behind  the  bars.  They 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  61 

caught  me  riding  on  the  cow-catcher  back  here 
in  the  woods  a  few  miles,  and  they  put  me  out 
while  they  were  side-tracked  for  a  passenger 
to  pass.  It  was  the  first  time  I  was  ever  invited 
from  behind  the  bars  in  my  life.  And  just  at 
the  present  time  I  am  lost.  I  don't  suppose 
you  ever  traveled  that  way,  did  you  f ' 

1 l  l  Once  or  twice, '  said  I. 

"  'Well,  I  ain't  making  any  apologies,'  said 
he ; '  but  this  was  my  first  time.  And  if  you  Ve 
got  the  bread  and  butter  to  spare  I  would  really 
appreciate  it.'  So  I  gave  him  the  bread  and 
butter. 

"And  that  was  how  I  met  Bill. 

"The  first  thing  that  made  me  warm  up  to 
him  was  his  sitting  up  nights  to  keep  the  gnats 
off  me.  It  was  after  the  spring  rise,  and  the 
woods  were  full  of  them,  so  I  had  n't  had 
a  good  night's  rest  since  I  could  remember. 
'I  '11  give  you  first  sleep,'  says  he.  He  took  a 
box  of  sulphur  matches  out  of  his  pocket— the 
kind  that  make  you  turn  your  head  till  they 
stop  burning  blue  and  yellow.  I  was  a  little 
slow  about  going  to  sleep.  Every  once  in  a 
while  I  would  wake  up  out  of  a  doze  and  open 
one  eye.  And  there  would  be  Bill  keeping  the 
gnats  off  me.  I  lay  there  a  long  time  with  one 
eye  part  open  when  he  thought  I  was  sleeping, 


62  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

and  every  time  he  lit  a  match  I  would  take  a 
good  look  at  him.  And  the  more  I  looked  at 
him  the  better  I  liked  him. 

"In  the  morning  when  I  woke  up  and  looked 
around  I  thought  he  was  gone.  But  pretty  soon 
he  came  out  of  the  dark  hole  from  where  he 
had  been  sleeping  inside  the  hold  of  the  scow 
on  a  board  that  he  had  fixed  up  to  keep  him  off 
the  bilge-water.  He  stayed  that  day  and  then 
another,  keeping  me  company.  And  the  up- 
shot of  it  was  that  we  got  to  feeling  like  ship- 
mates. 

"One  day— I  '11  never  forget  it— he  sat  quiet 
a  long  time,  sizing  me  up  with  a  peculiar  look 
in  his  eyes.  Then  he  said,  very  slow  and  de- 
liberate, 'Well,  partner,  I  see  you  're  the  kind 
I  can  be  honest  with.'  And  he  told  me  fair 
and  square  what  had  happened  to  him.  *  Now, 
honest,'  says  he,  'can  you  believe  it  's  true 
when  I  say  I  didn't  kill  Tiffin— or  can't  you?' 

"  'I  know  you  did  n't,'  says  I.  'I  can  see 
you  're  on  the  square. '  And  I  '11  never  forget, 
if  I  live  to  be  a  thousand  years  old,  the  look  in 
his  eye  when  he  said,  in  a  sort  of  quiet  way, 
'Well,  I  Ve  got  somebody  that  believes  me.' 

"We  sat  and  smoked  a  while.  Then  he  said : 
'I  guess  I  Ve  boarded  off  you  about  long 
enough.  It  's  about  time  for  me  to  be  moving 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  63 

on  to  the  back  country.  You  see  how  it  is,  part- 
ner—it 's  a  case  of  dead  or  alive ;  and  with  me 
it  's  going  to  be  dead. '  ' 

"He  wVd  be  good  for  th'  reward,  all  th' 
same,"  remarked  Finerty;  "but  they  're  not 
like  to  bring  so  much  whin  they  're  dead. ' ' 

"  'But,'  he  says  to  me,  'I  'm  glad  I  know 
you.  And  it  's  hoping  that  I  '11  get  the  best  of 
them  and  some  day  come  across  you  again.' 
With  that  he  put  his  hand  behind  his  back 
under  his  coat-tails,  and  pulled  his  belt  around. 
He  had  a  holster  with  a  revolver  in  it,  and  a 
pocket  made  of  the  top  of  a  boot-leg  filled  with 
cartridges.  He  took  out  the  revolver  and 
cleaned  it  up,  examining  its  action,  and  putting 
it  in  shape  in  a  way  that  showed  he  knew  all 
about  its  workings. 

1 '  '  Better  stay  on  a  couple  of  days,  anyhow, ' 
said  I. 

"  'Think  so?'  said  he,  looking  up  from  his 
work. 

"  'I  ain't  supposed  to  know  anything  about 
you,'  said  I.  'And  if  anybody  comes  along 
you  can  lay  low  in  the  dark  hole. ' 

"  'Well,  I  ought  to  be  getting  farther  away; 
but  if  you  look  at  it  that  way  I  guess  I  will  stay 
a  while.  I  ain't  very  anxious  to  be  saying 
good-by  myself, ' 


64  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"So  he  stayed  on  and  we  spent  the  time  to- 
gether, he  telling  me  more  about  the  hard  jobs 
he  'd  done,  and  me  letting  him  know  some  of 
the  hard  times  I  'd  seen.  About  a  week  after 
that  the  Vineland  showed  up  down-river.  He 
jumped  up  and  got  ready  to  leave.  Then  he 
turned  to  me  and,  looking  me  in  the  eye,  he 
said:  'Maybe  you  'd  better  change  your  mind 
and  go  on  with  the  boat  instead  of  coming  with 
me.  I  'm  bad  company. ' 

"  'I  '11  go  along,'  said  I. 

11  '  Anyway,  I  '11  say  good-by,'  said  he. 
'I  '11  go  back  in  the  woods  and  wait  a  while. 
But  of  course,'  says  he,  as  if  he  was  afraid  I 
might  change  my  mind  when  the  boat  came,  '  if 
I  got  into  trouble  it  wouldn't  be  any  trouble 
of  yours.  And  you  could  go  on  your  way  at 
any  time.' 

' '  And  I  could  see  that  it  was  harder  for  him 
to  give  me  up  than  he  was  saying. 

"  'You  ain't  as  bad  company  as  I  am,'  said 
I,  kicking  up  my  bad  leg. 

"  'Then  it  's  a  go,'  said  he,  brightening  up. 
'I  '11  take  care  of  you,  and  don't  you  forget 
it.  Maybe  I  will  have  a  chance  to  show  you  a 
trade  that  will  put  you  on  the  way  of  being 
something.  I  don't  like  to  be  saying  good-by, 
and  maybe  we  won't  have  to  at  all.  Anyway, 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  65 

I  can  make  a  good  umbrella-and-boiler  man 
out  of  you  before  my  time  comes.' 

"When  I  had  drawn  my  two  dollars  from  the 
boat  and  seen  the  scow  away,  I  met  him  back 
in  the  woods.  We  caught  a  freight  across  the 
river,  and  were  switched  off  about  three  miles 
below  Memphis.  As  we  intended  to  buy  some 
things  that  Bill  needed  before  we  crossed  the 
river  again  and  took  the  train  for  the  South- 
west, we  had  to  walk  to  town.  It  was  a  hard 
walk  for  me,  because  my  shoe  was  giving  out 
and  my  old  leg  needed  fixing— being  splintered 
at  the  end  and  a  little  short  and  beginning  to 
split.  As  we  walked  along,  the  sole  of  my  shoe 
got  looser,  and  every  time  I  stepped  it  would 
yawn  open  and  hang  down." 

"Like  th'  mouth  av  an  alligathor,"  interpo- 
lated Finerty.  "Kape  on  wid  yer  shtory  an' 
don't  let  me  be  intherruptin'  ye." 

"As  I  was  saying,  I  would  have  to  lift  my 
foot  high  and  kick  it  forward  and  slap  it  down 
every  time  I  took  a  step.  Bill  tied  it  up  with  a 
piece  of  string,  but  as  we  got  near  the  levee  I 
stubbed  my  toe  and  the  sole  hung  almost 
straight  down.  Then  it  took  so  long  between 
steps  that  if  I  had  n  't  been  pretty  good  at  bal- 
ancing on  the  peg  I  couldn't  have  walked  at 
all." 


66  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"Thin  ye  couldn't  shtand  a  while  on  wan 
leg  at  all  if  't  was  only  a  wooden  wan,  I  'm 
thinkin'.  'T  is  only  good  for  bechune  times  av 
th'  other  wan,  is  it?"  queried  Finerty. 

"Of  course;  and  it  was  too  long  between 
times.  But  we  were  almost  to  a  wharf-boat, 
where  Bill  would  have  a  chance  to  get  some 
more  string  and  fix  it  up  right.  So  I  managed 
to  get  along  with  him  helping  me.  But  as  we 
turned  into  the  levee,  where  the  walking  was 
rough,  I  stumbled  and  fell,  and  the  peg-leg, 
being  caught  between  two  cobblestones,  broke 
off  in  the  middle.  There  I  sat  on  the  levee 
without  a  leg  to  walk  on. 

"I  never  had  anything  come  over  me  and 
take  the  heart  out  of  me  just  the  way  that  did. 
I  guess  that  if  I  hadn't  knocked  around  con- 
siderable I  would  have  cried  about  it— and  I 
ain't  saying  that  I  did  n't  feel  like  it  then.  It 
wasn't  that  I  was  tired  and  hungry,  and  it 
wasn't  that  I  was  broke  down— although  it 
always  went  against  me  to  be  brought  to  crawl- 
ing. It  was  something  else  about  it  all  that  got 
the  best  of  me.  I  wiped  off  my  eyes  with  my 
coat-sleeve  and  sat  looking  up  at  Bill. 

"  'Well,  I  guess  it  's  all  off  between  us, 
Bill,'  says  I. 

' '  *  I  won 't  leave  a  partner  crawling, '  said  he. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  67 

He  caught  me  under  the  arms  and  threw  me  on 
his  back  and  took  me  farther  down  the  levee. 
He  set  me  up  against  a  pile  of  freight.  'You 
sit  there  till  I  come  back,'  he  said.  'I  '11  get 
something  for  you  to  walk  on. '  He  gave  me  a 
piece  of  torn  newspaper  to  read,  and  then  hur- 
ried away  up  town. 

"I  sat  and  waited  for  over  two  hours.  It 
grew  dark,  and  still  Bill  did  not  come  back. 
Then  it  clouded  up  and  began  to  rain  with  a 
chilly  mist  that  set  me  to  shivering.  I  buttoned 
my  coat  up  and  got  around  on  the  lee  side  of 
the  freight.  When  I  had  stood  the  wet  and 
cold  a  long  time  I  made  up  my  mind  that  some- 
thing had  happened  to  Bill,  and  that  there 
was  n  't  any  use  in  my  waiting  any  longer.  I 
took  off  my  shoe,  intending  to  hop  away;  for, 
as  I  was  saying,  it  always  made  the  bottom 
drop  out  of  my  feelings  to  be  brought  down  to 
crawling.  But  I  found  I  couldn't  hop  on  the 
big  cobblestones.  So  I  went  on  all  fours  till  I 
came  to  the  smooth  street.  Then  I  hopped 
across  the  street  to  a  long  row  of  commission- 
houses,  carrying  the  shoe  in  my  hand— thinking 
I  could  get  it  fixed  up  some  way— and  wearing 
what  was  left  of  my  leg. 

"There  was  a  wooden  awning  stretching 
away  for  a  block  over  the  brick  sidewalk  in 


68  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

front  of  the  wholesale  houses.  It  was  a  dark, 
deserted,  tunnel-like  sort  of  place— which  I  was 
glad  of,  being  fixed  the  way  I  was.  I  kept  on, 
although  I  could  hardly  see  where  I  was  going, 
thinking  I  would  find  a  good  place  to  lie  down. 
At  the  other  end  of  it  I  came  to  five  or  six 
others  standing  in  out  of  the  wet,  and  passing 
round  a  hottle  with  five  cents'  worth  of  alcohol 
in  the  bottom  of  it.  I  took  up  with  them  for 
company,  and  stretched  myself  out  on  the 
tongue  of  a  new  wagon  which  was  standing 
under  the  awning,  hoping  to  get  shivered  up 
warm  again  and  wondering  what  had  happened 
to  Bill." 

"'Twas  th'  polis  was  shtoppin'  him,  I  'm 
thinkin  V  commented  Finerty. 


CHAPTER  VI 


0 ;  it  was  two  women  and  a  little 
girl,"  replied  Stumpy.  "I  '11 
tell  you  what  happened  to  him. 
I  know  the  story  so  well  that  I 
can  say  it  by  heart.  After  he 
left  me  he  went  up  into  the 
residence  part  of  town,  thinking  he  would  do 
some  work  for  somebody  who  would  give  him 
a  good  right  shoe.  Then  he  would  cast  about 
and  find  a  good  piece  of  timber  to  make  me  a 
new  leg.  When  he  was  walking  past  a  brick 
house  with  rose-bushes  and  a  magnolia-tree  in 
the  front  yard,  who  does  he  see  but  Mrs. 
Thome,  waving  her  hand  and  calling,  de- 
lighted to  see  him.  You  see,  Bill  had  worked 
in  this  town  for  a  machine-shop  that  kept  him 
around  the  levee  a  good  deal,  fixing  things  on 
boats.  And  there  he  got  acquainted  with  some 
well-to-do  church  ladies  who  were  interested 
in  a  sort  of  mission  where  Bill  dropped  in  one 
day  to  listen  to  the  singing— for  he  was  a  great 
hand  to  listen  to  good  singing.  When  they 


70  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

came  around  in  the  meeting  to  talk  to  him  and 
ask  him  if  he  wanted  to  be  a  Christian,  Bill 
sort  of  took  them  on  a  different  tack;  for  he 
did  n't  count  himself  in  on  the  kind  that  was 
getting  converted,  but  just  a  visitor.  And  he 
got  them  interested  in  telling  him  how  the  place 
was  run.  He  took  a  liking  to  them,  and  offered 
to  put  in  a  broken  window  that  he  noticed  was 
out.  He  came  round  after  the  meeting  was  over 
and  did  it,  and  after  that  he  used  to  drop  in 
once  in  a  while  and  the  ladies  would  always 
have  something  that  needed  to  be  fixed.  He 
got  to  be  a  sort  of  a  partner  in  the  place,  and  he 
would  take  his  pay  out  by  sitting  down  at  the 
back  whenever  he  felt  like  it  of  evenings  and 
listening  to  the  singing,  saying,  '  How  do  ? '  to 
the  ladies  and  getting  to  be  good  friends,  so 
that  they  did  n't  bother  him  about  being  a 
Christian.  And  the  ladies  used  to  leave  all 
their  trouble  to  William.  Finally,  when  they 
saw  how  much  he  knew  about  fixing  things, 
they  got  to  asking  his  advice  about  things  that 
were  going  wrong  at  their  homes.  And  some 
afternoon  he  would  take  a  walk  out  to  the 
house  and  look  it  over.  Then  he  would  stay 
and  fix  whatever  it  was,  for  Bill  was  the  kind 
that  could  n't  stand  it  to  see  anything  working 
wrong. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  71 

"As  I  was  saying,  Mrs.  Thome  waved  her 
hand  and  called,  *  William,  William ! '  She  was 
delighted  to  see  him  again.  And  after  they 
had  talked  things  over  she  happened  to  re- 
member that  the  bath-room  faucet  was  out  of 
order.  And  could  he  explain  why  it  was,  and 
how  it  could  be  that  when  you  turned  off  a 
faucet  it  would  n't  stop  running? 

"  'That  's  easy  enough  fixed,'  said  Bill. 

'  *  He  went  into  the  bath-room  to  explain  what 
was  the  matter.  Then  he  shut  off  the  water 
and  unscrewed  the  top  of  the  faucet  to  show 
her.  He  packed  it  with  candle-wicking  and  put 
the  valve  in  order  with  a  new  rubber.  And 
then  it  did  n  't  leak  a  drop.  *  That  's  what  was 
the  matter  with  it, '  said  Bill ;  for  he  was  better 
on  doing  a  thing  than  explaining  it.  Then, 
while  he  was  taking  leave  and  pretending  he 
would  drop  in  and  see  the  mission  again,  she 
happened  to  think  of  the  music-box  that 
had  n't  played  for  months. 

"  'I  don't  suppose  anybody  can  fix  that,' 
she  said.  '  They  told  me  I  would  have  to  send 
it  to  Chicago,  where  there  is  a  man  from  Swit- 
zerland. ' 

"Bill  stopped  to  take  a  look  at  it  with  the 
reading-glass,  poking  around  in  the  works  with 
a  toothpick.  'There  isn't  anything  broken 


72  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

about  it,'  he  said.  'And  I  don't  see  any  lost 
motion  that  ought  to  hurt  any.  If  you  give  me 
the  bicycle-pump  and  some  gasolene,  maybe 
I  can  fix  it.'  He  unscrewed  it  out  of  the  box 
and  took  it  out  into  the  summer  kitchen,  where 
he  squirted  gasolene  through  the  works.  Sud- 
denly it  started  to  play  a  tune  that  she  said  was 
'Home  Again.'  He  fanned  it  till  it  was  dry, 
oiled  it  up  with  the  end  of  the  toothpick,  and 
screwed  it  back  into  the  rosewood  case  again. 

*  *  '  That 's  what  was  the  matter  with  it, '  said 
Bill.  'It  was  gummed  in  the  fan-pivot  and 
had  dirt  in  the  cage-wheel.  After  this,  only  use 
a  low-proof  oil  on  it.'  Then  he  said  good-by, 
with  her  standing  on  the  porch  telling  him  how 
kind  it  was  of  him,  and  the  music-box  playing 
the  'Blue  Danube'  in  the  parlor.  And  all  she 
could  do  was  to  invite  him  back  again;  for 
when  she  used  to  know  him  he  made  too  much 
money  to  be  paid  like  a  tinker  for  doing  a  fa- 
vor. And  all  he  could  do  was  to  promise  to 
come  again,  and  then  go  away  to  find  a 
stranger  that  would  give  him  a  right-footed 
shoe. 

' '  And  walking  up  the  next  street,  who  did  he 
run  across  but  the  Widow  Brown,  sitting  out 
in  front  of  her  candy-store.  She  no  more  than 
set  eyes  on  him  than  she  jumped  up  and  made 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  73 

him  come  in,  asking  him  where  he  had  been  and 
how  he  was  getting  along,  and  telling  him 
about  the  mission,  and  stopping  to  catch  her 
breath  so  that  she  could  go  on  and  tell  him  how 
all  the  ladies  had  missed  him  and  how  glad  she 
was  to  see  him.  When  Bill  was  looking  for  a 
chance  to  move  on  without  being  impolite— for 
he  wanted  to  find  the  timber  for  the  leg  before 
it  got  dark— the  widow  jumped  up  from  her 
chair  and  asked  him  if  he  would  mind  tending 
the  store  a  little  while.  'I  have  been  wanting 
to  get  away  a  few  minutes  all  day.  I  have  to 
run  down  and  telephone  for  some  of  the  new 
jaw-breaker  candies  that  the  children  have  been 
inquiring  for. '  She  put  on  her  shawl  and  bon- 
net, and  before  Bill  could  think  up  a  way  to 
say  no  she  had  pointed  out  that  everything  in 
the  store  had  the  price  marked  on  it,  and  was 
away  down  the  street. 

"Bill  sat  down  behind  the  counter.  A  po- 
liceman went  past.  He  was  one  that  used  to 
have  a  beat  on  the  levee,  so  Bill  moved  his  chair 
down  where  he  would  be  behind  a  taller  show- 
case. Pretty  soon  he  saw  that  the  policeman 
passed  regularly,  walking  up  and  down  his 
beat,  striking  his  club  on  the  sidewalk  and  en- 
joying the  afternoon  sun.  Bill  sat  with  his 
head  down  behind  the  show-case,  thinking  of 


74  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

his  revolver  and  wondering  whether  the  officer 
might  know  he  was  wanted.  And  he  hoped  no 
customers  would  come  in. 

"Before  long  a  little  girl  stopped  and  looked 
into  the  show-window.  She  held  a  cent  against 
the  glass,  and  moved  it  about  as  if  she  used  it 
to  mark  her  place  as  she  looked  over  the  differ- 
ent kinds  of  candy.  Then  she  stood  and 
pressed  her  nose  against  the  window,  so  that 
her  face,  as  Bill  sat  watching  her,  was  a  flat 
white  spot  surrounded  by  red  cheeks  and 
golden  hair.  After  a  while  she  decided  to 
come  in;  and  Bill  had  to  stand  up  behind  the 
counter,  keeping  his  eye  out  for  the  policeman. 

"  'What  do  you  want,  little  girl?'  said 
Bill. 

"  'How  many  of  them  do  you  give  for  a 
cent!' 

"  'Three  for  a  cent,'  answered  Bill,  looking 
at  the  ticket. 

"  'How  much  is  them  candy  marbles!' 

' '  '  Candy  marbles,  two  for  a  cent, '  said  Bill. 

"  'How  much  is  them  lozingers?' 

"  'Six  for  a  cent.' 

"  'Ain't  you  got  any  eight  for  a  cent!'  asked 
the  little  girl. 

"Bill  looked  all  over  the  show-case,  but 
did  n't  find  any  at  that  price. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  75 

"  'Guess  not,  little  girl.  We  're  all  out  of 
lozingers  eight  for  a  cent.' 

"Just  then  Bill  saw  the  policeman  coming, 
and  he  bent  down  behind  the  show-case  until 
he  had  passed.  When  he  stood  up  the  little  girl 
was  standing  with  her  nose  pressed  flat  against 
the  show-case,  and  holding  her  cent  against  the 
glass  with  one  finger.  Then  she  looked  up  at 
the  shelves. 

"  'What  kind  of  candy  is  them  in  that  jar?' 
she  asked. 

"  'Them  '&  just  sticks  of  candy,  little  girl.' 

"  'Is  they  lemon  or  hoarhound?' 

"  'Don't  know,'  said  Bill,  looking  the  jar 
over  to  find  a  label. 

"  'Why  don't  you  taste  them?  That  's  how 
you  can  find  out, '  said  the  little  girl. 

"  Bill  handed  her  a  stick  and  said:  'I  guess 
you  had  better  taste  it  yourself.' 

"  'Them  's  hoarhound.  Ain't  you  got  any 
lemon?'  she  said,  chewing  the  bite  she  had 
taken. 

' '  '  Guess  not.  Guess  we  're  all  out  of  lemon, ' 
said  Bill,  putting  the  jar  back  and  keeping  his 
eye  out  of  the  front  window. 

"  'What  's  inside  them  marbles,  two  for  a 
cent?' 

"  'Which?    Them  red  ones!' 


76  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

*  *  '  No ;  them  white  ones. ' 

11  'Don't  know;  I  never  ate  any,'  said  Bill. 

"  'Wisht  I  knew  if  they  was  nuts  in  them,' 
she  said,  pressing  her  nose  against  the  glass 
again. 

"  'Well,  I  guess  the  only  way  to  find  out  is 
to  try  one,'  said  Bill. 

1  'He  stood  and  waited  until  she  got  through 
eating  it,  keeping  his  eye  out  for  the  policeman 
and  hoping  he  would  n  't  take  a  notion  to  come 
in. 

"  'Them  ain't  got  any  nuts  inside.  I  likes 
them  with  nuts  inside.  What  's  in  them  red 
ones  1 ' 

"  'Don't  know, 'said  Bill. 

' '  '  Let  me  see  one  of  them, '  she  said. 

"Bill  handed  it  out,  hoping  she  would  find 
something  to  suit  her  and  go  home. 

"  'Them  red  ones  has  nuts  in.  Ain't  you  got 
any  white  ones  with  nuts  in!'  she  said,  as  she 
swallowed  the  red  one. 

"  'Look  here,  little  girl,'  said  Bill,  'you  'd 
better  make  up  your  mind  what  you  want. ' 

"  'Well,  then,  I  '11  take  some  red  ones  with 
nuts  in.' 

"Bill  counted  the  red  ones  out  into  a  bag. 
But  before  she  gave  him  the  cent  she  showed 
him  the  inside  of  the  bag  and  said:  'I  only  got 
four.' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  77 

"  'Yes,  of  course  you  got  four.  Don't  you 
know  you  ate  two?'  said  Bill.  'And  two  from 
six  leaves  four.' 

"  'No,  they  don't,'  she  said.  'They  leaves 
five ;  'cause  one  was  a  white  one,  and  them  red 
ones  is  six  for  a  cent/ 

"'Well,'  said  Bill,  'you've  got  me  beat. 
Here  's  the  other  one.  Now  trot  along  with 
you,  because  I  've  got  something  to  'tend  to.' 

"When  the  widow  came  back  Bill  got  away 
in  a  hurry.  By  that  time  it  was  raining  and 
drizzling.  As  he  walked  down  a  dark  street 
thinking  things  over— of  me  sitting  all  this 
time  in  the  wet  waiting  for  him,  and  of  his 
hurry  to  get  away,  and  of  me  not  having  any 
leg  to  walk  on,  and  then  of  how  he  had  been 
wasting  his  time— he  began  to  get  mad,  blam- 
ing himself  and  everybody  else.  He  went  into 
a  saloon  and  drank  a  big  glass  of  whisky,  and 
came  out  swearing  that  the  leg  and  shoe  would 
have  to  come  soon.  As  he  was  passing  a  car- 
riage-maker's shop  that  was  locked  for  the 
night,  he  suddenly  came  to  a  stop,  and  it  flashed 
across  his  mind  that  he  would  get  a  good  hick- 
ory leg  in  there  and  tools  to  work  with.  And 
that  was  where  he  got  it. 

"Then,  as  he  was  coming  down  the  street, 
with  the  whisky  and  his  troubles  working  in- 
side of  him,  he  met  two  citizens  who  were 


78  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

walking  abreast  and  taking  up  the  whole  side- 
walk, leaving  him  the  gutter.  The  bull-headed 
idea  came  over  him  that  here  was  where  he 
would  get  the  shoe.  He  was  looking  for  trou- 
ble, anyway.  He  whirled  the  spoke  around  his 
head  and  backed  them  into  a  corner.  I  guess 
they  must  have  been  able  to  see  that  he  meant 
what  he  said  to  them;  for,  when  he  told  them 
to  pass  over  their  right  shoes,  they  did  it.  That 
was  how  he  got  the  one  that  suited  him." 

"Then  ye  wasn't  th'  only  wan  that  had  to 
do  some  hoppin',"  commented  Finerty,  mani- 
festing a  more  lively  interest  in  the  tale. 

"While  this  was  going  on,"  continued 
Stumpy,  "I  was  lying  on  the  wagon-tongue  in 
front  of  the  commission-houses.  The  others 
stood  in  a  dark  doorway,  waiting  for  some  one 
to  come  along  and  give  them  another  nickel  to 
get  alcohol  with.  They  found  it  was  a  good 
place;  for,  although  few  passed  that  way,  the 
ones  who  did  pass  were  prompt  about  giving 
something  to  charity.  Seeing  this,  one  of  them 
would  suddenly  step  forth  and  ask  for  the 
nickel  in  a  way  that  you  could  see  that  he  ex- 
pected to  get  it— and  so  he  would. 

"Presently  I  heard  some  one  coming  in  the 
distance.  His  footsteps  echoed  in  the  big,  quiet 
building  and  under  the  long  tunnel  of  awning. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  79 

I  could  hear  them  whispering  among  them- 
selves—deciding who  should  stop  him.  And 
when  he  was  opposite  the  wagon  one  of  them 
stepped  out  in  front  of  him.  I  heard  him  say, 
'We  are  needing  a  little  money,  stranger.' 

"  'We  do,  do  we?'  He  roared  it  like  a  bull. 
He  gave  the  fellow  a  push  that  sent  him  about 
ten  feet  away.  Then  he  cast  about  for  the 
others,  and  went  at  them  with  the  spoke  of  the 
barouche ;  and  he  sent  them  flying  up  the  street. 
Then  he  stood  flourishing  the  hickory  and 
saying  to  himself,  'We  need  the  money.  We 
do.' 

"  'Bill,'  said  I,  rolling  off  the  wagon- tongue 
on  to  my  right  leg. 

"  'Lord,  boy!  is  it  you?'  he  exclaimed.  'I 
was  beginning  to  feel  bad ;  I  thought  I  had  lost 
you.'  He  dropped  his  club  to  his  side  and 
stood  thinking.  Then  he  said:  'Well,  partner, 
we  have  no  time  to  lose  now;  we  must  hunt  a 
hole/ 

"He  threw  me  across  his  back  and  started 
away,  holding  my  leg  in  his  hammer  arm. 

"We  followed  the  edge  of  the  levee,  where 
we  would  n  't  be  likely  to  meet  any  one ;  and  we 
kept  going  till  we  came  to  an  old  wharf-boat 
about  half  a  mile  south.  Here  we  found  a  hole 
and  got  below  decks. 


80  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"Bill  lit  a  lantern  that  he  found,  and  laid 
down  the  spoke,  some  extract  of  beef,  and  six 
Scandinavian  crackers  about  a  foot  in  diame- 
ter. He  unloaded  his  pockets  of  a  kit  of  tools, 
with  nails  and  screws  and  brass-headed  tacks, 
and  started  to  work. 

"  'A  part  of  your  old  leg  will  do,'  he  said, 
'with  a  little  fixing.  But  I  am  going  to  put  a 
wider  strap  on  this  one,'  said  he,  putting  a 
string  along  my  leg  and  marking  off  the  mea- 
sure. 'And  I  '11  make  the  leg  about  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  too  long.  Then,  after  you  have  it 
on,  I  '11  keep  skiving  it  off  till  it  feels  right 
before  I  put  the  ferrule  on.  Then  it  will  be 
sure  to  fit.' 

"He  set  to  work  with  hammer  and  awl  and 
jack-knife;  and  pretty  soon  he  was  as  happy 
as  a  shoemaker,  talking  away  about  what  had 
happened  to  him.  And  whenever  he  told  about 
the  time  with  the  little  girl  he  would  smile  to 
himself  and  peg  away  faster,  whistling  under 
his  breath.  'We  '11  make  a  good  job  of  this 
to-night,'  said  he;  'and  in  the  morning  we  will 
do  a  little  thinking  and  make  ourselves  scarce. 
They  '11  be  looking  for  me. ' 

"Before  morning  came  it  was  all  done,  and 
I  was  standing  again  in  a  good  grain-leather 
shoe  and  on  a  leg  that  fit  me  as  if  it  grew  there. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  81 

And  it  had  a  good  ferrule  at  the  bottom— an 
iron  band  that  was  made  for  the  end  of  a  breast- 
yoke. 

1  'It  suited  Bill  every  way  but  one.  'I  'm 
sorry, '  said  he,  when  he  saw  me  standing  on  it 
and  walking  around  in  the  hold  of  the  boat  to 
try  it— 'I  'm  sorry  that  I  had  to  drive  the  fer- 
rule on.  It  ought  to  be  heated  and  shrunk.'" 

"D'ye  know,"  said  Finerty,  withdrawing 
his  pipe  and  straightening  up,  "ye  couldn't 
be  makin'  me  belave  't  is  thrue  if  't  was  n't 
that  I  see  it  is.  An '  did  th '  polis  get  th '  felly  ? ' ' 

"Well,"  continued  Stumpy,  "the  next  morn- 
ing, when  we  came  out  of  the  wharf -boat— 

"SUop!  't  isshtartin'-time  f'r  Twinty-three. 
Ye  can  tell  me  th'  rist  again,"  exclaimed  Fin- 
erty, jumping  up  with  the  big  silverine  watch 
in  his  hand.  There  came  a  murmuring  of  the 
rails  before  the  door.  He  grabbed  his  lantern 
and  bolted  out,  slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

Stumpy  made  himself  easy  on  the  sand,  and 
went  to  sleep  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VH 

HEN  Michael  appeared  at  the 
breakfast-table  on  the  follow- 
ing afternoon,  Mrs.  Finerty 
seated  herself  opposite  to 
"have  a  look  at  him."  She 
made  many  inconsequential 
inquiries  in  hope  of  finding  a  subject  for  con- 
versation. This  reminded  Finerty  of  the 
tramp 's  tale,  and  he  repeated  it  all  to  her,  set- 
ting forth  the  facts  in  his  own  way. 

"An'  ye  a-sittin'  an'  talkin'  to  Shtoompy! 
An'  why  was  he  goin'  wid  a  murd'rer  an'  not 
tellin'  th'  polis?" 

"He  is  th'  innocint  wan  for  ye.  Ye  can  see 
he  is  good  at  th'  bukes,  but  he  '11  not  be  goin' 
far  in  this  worruld.  He  says  he  knew  th '  black- 
shmith  did  n't  do  it.  An'  he  knows  it  th'  way 
't  w'u'd  be  no  use  denyin'  him,  because  th' 
blackshmith  tould  him  so." 

"Sometimes  ye  can  tell  a  thing  just  by 
knowin'  it,"  commented  Mrs.  Finerty.  And 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  83 

after  a  moment's  thought  she  continued: 
"  'T  was  good  av  him  to  do  that  for  th'  poor 
wan-legged  bye.  If  't  was  n't  that  he  was 
a  murd'rer,  I  'd  be  thinkin'  he  was  kind- 
hear-r-rted, "  she  said.  "An'  why  w'u'd  a 
murd'rer  do  it,  d'  ye  think?" 

" 'T  was  because  th'  wan-legged  bye  w'u'd 
belave  what  he  tould  him.  'T  is  a  quare 
worruld. ' ' 

*  *  I  see, ' '  mused  Mrs.  Finerty.  '  *  People  must 
be  havin'  those  that  belave  in  thim;  't  is  that 
weemen  are  for — an'  worrukin'.  If  't  was  n't 
for  me  belavin'  in  ye,  ye  'd  niver  be  what  ye 
are  at  th'  chutes,  Michael." 

Whenever  his  wife's  conversation  took  this 
turn,  Finerty  made  excuse  to  end  it.  Looking 
at  the  clock,  which  was  always  kept  ahead  of 
time  and  then  interpreted  by  his  watch,  he 
seized  his  hat  and  bucket  and  started  for  work. 
Mrs.  Finerty  hailed  him  from  the  gate,  as 
usual,  and  reminded  him  to  "be  careful." 
"And,"  she  added,  "find  out  about  th'  indin' 
of  th'blackshmith." 

That  evening  was  chilly,  and  Stumpy  came 
promptly  to  the  sand-house,  where  Finerty 
was  awaiting  him. 

Stumpy  settled  himself  in  the  accommodat- 
ing sand,  with  his  arms  behind  his  head;  and 


84  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

looking  down  on  his  auditor,  he  resumed  the 
tale. 

"As  I  was  saying,  when  we  crawled  out  of 
the  hold  of  the  wharf -boat  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, Bill  said  to  me,  'We  Ve  got  to  get  across 
this  river  right  now!'  He  had  been  happy- 
go-lucky  all  night  while  he  was  tinkering  on 
my  leg,  but  now  I  could  see  the  business  look 
come  back  into  his  eye  again.  Bill  was  one  of 
the  kind  that  did  n't  bother  much  about  trou- 
ble till  the  time  came ;  then  he  would  take  hold 
of  it  like  a  job  of  work  when  the  whistle  blows. 
There  was  five  hundred  dollars  reward  offered 
on  the  bills  that  were  pasted  up  in  the  police 
stations;  and  Bill  said  to  me,  'I  'm  good  for 
just  so  much  money,  ready  to  be  cashed  in 
New  Orleans.  On  account  of  what  I  did  last 
night  in  this  town  they  will  be  hauling  in  the 
likes  of  us  on  suspicion.  And  it  won't  do  for 
me  to  be  taken  up  for  this,  because  then  they 
would  find  that  I  'm  both  men  that  's  wanted. ' 

"We  walked  down  the  levee  and  found  a 
skiff.  It  was  chained  and  locked  to  a  post,  and 
there  were  no  oars.  Bill  opened  the  lock  with 
two  big  rocks  for  hammer  and  anvil,  cracking 
it  like  a  nut.  We  headed  for  Arkansaw  with 
a  fence-rail,  Bill  shoving  her  along  strong, 
canoe  fashion,  and  letting  the  board  trail  after 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  85 

each  stroke  to  keep  her  course  right.  He 
did  n't  know  how  to  run  a  canoe  with  one  oar 
when  he  started,  but  after  a  few  strokes  he 
said  he  saw  how  it  was.  Out  in  the  middle  the 
spring  flood  was  running  like  a  mill-race,  but 
we  got  over  without  drifting  down  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  mile.  When  we  landed  Bill 
shoved  her  out  again,  hoping  she  would  ground 
on  shore  somewhere  below  and  put  them  on  the 
wrong  trail. 

* '  The  river  was  going  down  after  the  worst 
of  the  flood,  and  the  mud  on  the  trees  showed 
that  the  eastern  part  of  Arkansaw  had  been 
about  five  feet  under  water.  The  woods  were 
damp,  and  the  air  was  alive  with  gnats.  Bill 
took  the  fence-rail  along  on  his  shoulder,  say- 
ing we  would  need  the  dry  end  of  it  to  cook 
breakfast  with.  They  were  just  beginning  to 
repair  the  washouts  on  the  railroad,  banking  it 
up  with  bags  of  dirt.  We  skirted  around  a 
wrecking  crew  and  struck  the  railroad  again, 
following  a  spur  that  led  to  the  Iron  Mountain, 
where  we  would  strike  the  main  line  to  the 
Southwest.  We  walked  the  tracks  through  the 
muddy  woods  all  morning;  a  cloud  of  gnats 
going  along  with  us. 

"  'These  gnats  seem  to  know  the  way,'  said 
Bill,  pointing  to  the  ones  that  kept  ahead.  So 


86  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

I  could  see  that  he  was  beginning  to  feel  like 
himself  again. 

* '  The  tracks  gradually  sloped  away  from  the 
river,  so  that,  as  we  got  deeper  into  the  State, 
the  road-bed  was  in  better  condition.  But  there 
was  a  washout  here  and  there,  and  trains  were 
not  running  because  connection  had  not  been 
made  at  the  Memphis  end.  Toward  noon  we 
came  to  a  string  of  wrecked  freight-cars  that 
had  gone  off  the  raised  track  and  rolled  over 
in  the  woods.  Here  we  took  a  rest  and  had 
dinner,  making  soup  with  the  beef  extract  in 
a  peach-can  full  of  water.  We  threw  damp 
leaves  on  the  coals  till  we  had  a  smudge  fire, 
and  then  we  sat  down  in  the  smoke  to  eat  din- 
ner, dipping  the  Scandinavian  cracker  in  the 
soup,  and  getting  a  rest  from  the  gnats. 

"Toward  sundown,  when  I  was  about  tired 
out,  we  came  to  a  hand-car. 

1 1  '  I  wish  it  was  the  kind  we  could  pump.  My 
arms  are  not  so  tired  as  this  leg  is, '  said  I. 

"  'If  that  's  the  case,  it  's  luck  as  it  is,'  said 
Bill.  'I  '11  keep  it  a-going  while  you  rest. 
Give  me  a  hand  to  put  it  on  the  rails.  You  can 
ride  and  I  '11  push. ' 

'  *  He  kept  it  going  at  a  brisk  walk ;  sometimes 
running  till  it  had  a  good  start  and  then  jump- 
ing aboard  to  catch  a  ride  himself.  But  before 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  87 

dark  he  steadied  down  to  a  regular  walk.  Af- 
ter a  while  I  got  to  thinking  things  over,  lying 
on  my  back  rolling  along  and  looking  up  at 
the  stars.  And  I  did  n't  like  the  idea. 

' '  '  Say,  Bill, '  said  I,  sitting  up  of  a  sudden, 
but  not  seeing  him  very  plainly  because  the 
woods  were  so  dark ; '  set  it  off  the  track.  I  can 
sleep  on  it,  and  you  can  keep  on.  If  it«was  me 
that  was  running  away  it  would  be  different, 
and  this  would  be  all  right.' 

"He  did  n't  answer  right  away.  The  car 
gradually  slowed  down,  and  finally  it  came  to 
a  dead  stop.  Then  I  heard  him  say,  *  You  know 
I  did  n't  kill  Tiffin,  don't  you?' 

"  'Sure  I  do, 'said  I. 

"  l  And  you  're  a  partner  of  mine,  ain't  you?' 

"  'Of  course,'  said  I.  'If  I  was  n't  I  would 
have  gone  on  the  boat.' 

"  'And  if  you  was  n't  you  would  n't  'a'  met 
me  behind  the  tree— seeing  you  did  n't  have 
to, '  said  he. 

"  '  I  should  say  not, '  said  I. 

"  'Well,  then,  roll  over  and  go  to  sleep/ 

"With  that  he  started  the  car  up  again  and 
got  it  rattling  along ;  and  it  made  so  much  noise 
we  could  n  't  talk.  But  after  a  little  while,  when 
I  had  rolled  over  to  rest,  the  car  slowed  down 
and  stopped  again. 


88  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

' '  *  I  wish  it  was  you  that  was  running  away. 
Then  maybe  we  'd  get  along  together.'  And 
he  started  it  up  again,  pushing  hard. 

1  'I  laid  on  my  back  looking  up  at  the  stars 
and  thinking  it  over  till  I  saw  how  he  felt  about 
it,  and  I  felt  kind  of  cheap  for  not  wanting 
him  to  push  me.  And  finally  I  rolled  over  and 
went  to  sleep. 

"When  I  woke  it  was  beginning  to  grow 
light.  I  was  still  rolling  along.  I  sat  up  and 
rubbed  my  eyes  till  I  got  myself  awake.  I 
found  he  had  been  pushing  me  steady  all  night. 
He  had  struck  a  washout  and  carried  me  across 
it,  laying  me  easy  on  the  ground  till  he  got 
the  car  over.  And  I  was  so  dead  tired  that  I 
never  woke  up. 

"  'Well,  partner,  how  are  you  feeling!'  said 
he. 

"  'Pretty  fair,'  said  I. 

1 '  '  That  's  good.  Here  's  where  we  stop  fif- 
teen minutes  for  refreshments.'  ' 

' '  He  must  have  been  th '  sthrong,  healt  'y  bye 
to  be  kapin'  it  up  like  that,"  remarked  Finerty. 

"Yes,"  replied  Stumpy.  "But  I  could  see 
he  was  pretty  near  worn  out.  He  had  lots  of 
grit.  When  we  had  eaten  the  cracker  and  beef 
juice  he  was  about  ready  to  shut  his  eyes  and 
roll  over  for  want  of  sleep.  So  I  says,  'Get 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  89 

on  the  car,  Bill.  I  '11  push  it  along  while  you 
get  some  sleep.' 

"He  looked  me  over  a  while,  as  if  he 
was  studying  something  out.  Then  he  said, 
'You  Ve  got  the  power,  but  you  ain't  got  the 
gearinV  He  went  off  into  the  woods  and 
came  back  whittling  a  long  pole.  'You  '11  get 
along  better  working  it  like  a  flatboat,'  he 
said.  'You  have  the  back  and  arms  for  it; 
and  that  '11  save  your  legs  till  you  need  them.' 
And  pretty  soon  I  had  her  going  at  a  fair  clip, 
shoving  her  along  with  the  pole,  and  dragging 
it  between  strokes,  with  Bill  laying  on  the  car 
watching  me. 

"  'Well,  I  guess  you  could  n't  go  that  fast 
on  a  stiff  leg,  stooping  over,'  said  he,  looking 
up  at  me,  with  his  arms  behind  his  head. 

"  'I  could  n't  keep  up  to  it,'  said  I. 

' '  '  Now  you  Ve  got  the  power  with  the  gear- 
in  ' ;  and  you  're  getting  to  be  a  perf essor, '  said 
Bill.  Then  he  laid  down  flat,  putting  his  coat 
over  his  head,  and  went  to  sleep. 

' '  I  rolled "  along  pretty  well  all  morning, 
changing  arms  and  getting  rested  one  side 
and  then  the  other.  The  gnats— and  whe- 
ther they  were  the  same  ones  kept  me  guess- 
ing—followed us  still.  At  noon  Bill  woke  and 
sat  up,  frowning  as  he  looked  at  the  sun,  and 


90  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

smiling  when  he  looked  at  me.  He  pushed  me 
along  again  for  a  couple  of  hours  to  even 
things  up  between  us.  Then  we  dumped  the 
car  off  the  tracks ;  for  Bill  said  that  as  we  were 
both  in  shape  again,  and  as  we  would  get  to 
Hoxie  before  my  leg  gave  out,  the  car  would  be 
a  dead  weight  now,  seeing  that  we  would  n't 
need  it  again.  Toward  night  we  struck  the  Iron 
Mountain  road  at  a  little  station  where  there 
were  some  country  stores  and  a  depot  platform 
sitting  in  the  middle  of  a  big  circle  of  thick 
woods.  And  just  as  we  reached  the  main  line 
a  freight-train  showed  up  in  the  distance.  It 
was  going  the  right  direction  for  us,— toward 
Texas,— and  we  stood  near  the  platform  wait- 
ing for  a  chance  to  get  on  when  she  came  to 
a  stop.  But  the  train,  instead  of  stopping,  put 
on  more  speed  and  went  past,  with  the  engi- 
neer and  fireman  leaning  out  and  watching  both 
sides  of  the  train,  and  the  crew  keeping  a  look- 
out along  the  length  of  it.  There  were  fifteen 
or  twenty  tramps  lying  around  on  the  grass 
back  of  the  platform.  They  paid  no  attention 
to  the  train— no  more  than  if  they  had  never 
had  any  idea  of  traveling. 

"  'What  does  this  mean?'  said  Bill  to  an  old 
fellow  who  was  lying  on  the  grass,  with  a  rusty 
coffee-pot  under  his  arm. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  91 

"  'It  's  the  strike,'  he  answered. 

"  'Ain't  there  any  of  you  that  can  flip  a 
train  going  at  that  speed?'  asked  Bill. 

"  'There  's  some.  But  they  don't  want  to. 
Down  at  Little  Rock  the  soldiers  are  holding 
the  yards  like  a  fort  and  searching  the  cars— 
and  they  are  the  regulars.  So  we  don't  want 
to  take  the  chances.  Besides  that,  the  crew 
keeps  close  watch  for  fear  strikers  will  get  on 
and  do  them  up  when  they  get  out  in  the  coun- 
try. We  're  all  afraid  of  each  other— us  and 
them.'  The  old  fellow  shifted  his  coffee-pot 
under  the  other  arm  and  went  on:  'We  're 
blocked  front  and  back,  and  it  's  too  far  to 
walk  anywhere.  There  ain't  enough  grub 
around  these  parts  to  feed  the  chickens.  I  have 
a  pocketful  of  coffee,  and  I  have  to  sleep  with 
this  coffee-pot  and  hug  it  all  night  to  be  sure 
that  I  '11  have  it  in  the  morning.  That  's  how 
it  is.' 

"Bill  walked  up  and  down  the  tracks  and 
looked  around  at  the  circle  of  woods  like  an 
animal  in  a  cage.  If  the  army  had  figured  on 
getting  Bill  into  a  pocket  where  the  police 
could  catch  him,  it  could  n't  have  been  done 
better  than  in  the  strike  of  '86.  I  could  see  the 
devil  come  back  into  him  again.  When  Bill 
was  himself  and  talking  friendly  there  would 


92  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

be  little  wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes  that 
made  you  think  he  was  smiling.  And  when  he 
was  working  on  a  job  he  looked  at  it  the  same 
way,  except  that  he  closed  his  eyes  a  little  more, 
as  if  he  was  looking  deep  into  crooked  places, 
and  building  things  in  his  mind.  I  used  to 
think  Bill  could  look  into  a  keyhole  and  tell 
what  kind  of  a  key  would  fit  the  works.  But 
when  he  was  on  the  war-path  his  eyes  would 
open  up  and  set  like  a  steel  trap  ready  to  go  off. 
This  day  I  guess  he  would  have  looked  a  fine 
hole  through  a  Texas  ranger.  It  would  have 
been  a  hard  job  to  pull  a  gun  on  him. 

1  'I  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  platform 
while  he  paced  up  and  down  the  tracks.  Fi- 
nally he  went  so  far  that  I  lost  sight  of  him. 
In  about  an  hour  he  came  back  and  motioned 
me  to  follow. 

' '  '  They  slow  up  about  a  mile  above  here  and 
come  almost  to  a  stop.  There  's  a  bad  track,' 
he  said. 

"We  went  up  to  the  place,  and  sat  under  a 
culvert  and  waited.  Before  long  a  train  slowed 
down  and  came  almost  to  a  stop  over  our  heads. 
Bill  took  off  his  hat  and  peeped  out  of  the  cul- 
vert along  the  tracks.  The  crew  were  leaning 
out  along  the  top  of  the  train.  But  as  she 
started  up  again  they  stopped  watching,  think- 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  93 

ing  there  was  no  one  in  sight.  Bill  hurried  me 
up  the  bank  and  gave  me  a  lift  to  a  cattle-car, 
running  along  and  almost  carrying  me  till  I 
got  my  fingers  in  the  slats.  He  swung  up 
and  helped  me  to  the  bumpers  between  the  cat- 
tle-car and  the  box-car  ahead,  and  then  up 
through  the  end  window  of  the  cattle-car.  The 
car  carried  a  few  barrels  of  kerosene  and  some 
boxes  of  soap,  for  there  had  been  such  a  block- 
ade on  account  of  the  strike  and  the  floods  that 
they  were  sending  the  return  cattle-cars  back 
to  Texas  with  freight.  We  shifted  the  load 
around  till  we  had  a  clear  space  surrounded  by 
barrels.  But  as  we  sat  down  in  it  Bill  saw  that 
when  the  brakeman  walked  along  on  top  he 
could  see  down  through  the  end  window  into 
our  place.  He  piled  some  soap-boxes  up  in  a 
careless  way,  to  shut  off  the  view. 

"  'Now  we  have  a  fort  of  our  own,'  said  Bill. 

"As  we  rolled  through  the  little  town  we 
looked  out  between  the  barrels  and  through  the 
slats  and  saw  the  others  lying  about  the  plat- 
form. The  old  fellow  was  sitting  with  the  cof- 
fee-pot under  his  arm. 

"  'This  was  the  only  opening  on  the  train, 
and  we  struck  it, '  said  Bill. 

"  'But  how  about  Little  Rockf '  I  asked. 

"  'We  '11  take  our  chances,'  said  Bill. 


94  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"It  was  growing  dusk.  We  rolled  along, 
talking  about  the  chances  and  the  luck  we  had 
been  having,  good  and  bad.  After  a  while  Bill 
sat  quiet  for  a  spell,  not  giving  me  more  than 
an  answer  when  I  spoke  to  him.  I  saw  he  was 
studying  something  out. 

"  'What  are  you  thinking  so  hard  about, 
Bill !'  I  asked. 

"  'I  've  been  thinking  that  Little  Rock  is 
the  end  of  this  division,  and  Texarkana  is  the 
next.  We  've  only  got  that  one  division  after 
this— if  we  don't  have  trouble  with  them  sol- 
diers; and  when  we  get  down  there  in  God's 
country  we  '11  stop  running.  When  you  get  to 
Texas  there  ain't  nowhere  else  to  run  to  that  's 
worth  while.  I  want  to  get  to  work  again. 
So  when  we  get  down  there  we  '11  settle  down 
somewhere,  and  then  we  '11  mix  up  with  folks 
instead  of  running  away  from  them.  I  will 
have  to  take  another  name.  I  've  been  trying 
to  think  up  a  name.  But  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I 
can  think  of  one  that  sounds  right. ' 

"  'How  would  John  do?'  said  I. 

"  'It  's  too  much  like  Bill.  It  's  what  any- 
body would  think  of.' 

' '  *  You  want  one  that  sounds  as  if  you  did  n  't 
pick  it  out  yourself. ' 

"  'That  's  it,'  said  he.    'I  can't  come  across 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  95 

one  that  don't  seem  suspicious.  None  of  'em 
sound  right  to  me.' 

"  'Charlie  would  n't  fit  you  right,  would  it?' 
said  I. 

"  'No;  that  don't  suit  me  at  all.  It  don't 
seem  to  be  on  the  square. ' 

"  'Or  Aleck  or  Henry  or  Jim?' 

"  'No;  I  've  thought  of  them.  I  don't  like 
them.' 

"I  thought  of  twenty  or  thirty  more,  but  he 
would  n't  have  them. 

"  'I  know  a  name— Cecil,'  said  I.  'That  's 
different  from  the  others.' 

"  'Yes;  it  's  good  enough  some  ways;  but 
it  ain  't  a  name  my  mother  would  'a '  called  me. 
And  me  a  blacksmith.  I  've  got  to  pick  out 
a  name  that  I  '11  have  to  keep;  that  's  why  I 
am  so  particular.' 

' '  '  How  about  your  second  name  ? '  said  I. 

"  'I  've  made  it  Dalton.  That  was  easy 
enough.  It  's  only  the  first  I  can't  decide  on.' 

"I  thought  a  long  time,  and  at  last  I  struck  it. 

"  'How  would  Alonzo  do?'  said  I.  'Your 
mother  might  have  called  you  that.  And  you 
can  make  it  Lon  for  short.'  I  saw  that  that 
struck  him. 

"  'That  is  n't  a  bad  one,'  said  he.  'It  ain't 
a  clerk's  sort  of  name.  I  guess  I  could  answer 


96  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

to  Lon  all  right.  I  Ve  noticed  you  're  mighty 
handy  with  words,  perfessor.' 

"  'Then,'  said  I,  'when  we  get  to  water— 
and  I  'm  mighty  thirsty  now— I  '11  sprinkle 
a  few  drops  on  your  head,  and  we  '11  make  it 
Alonzo. ' 

"  'And  if  they  find  us  when  they  search  the 
cars,'  said  he,  'you  'd  better  make  it  Alonzo 
right  away  without  the  water.  And  you  are 
supposed  to  have  met  me  at  Hoxie.  And  you 
don't  know  anything  about  me  except  that  my 
name  is  Lon.  That  '11  keep  us  from  getting  our 
lies  mixed.' 

"We  sat  talking  and  watching  the  lights  of 
farm-houses  and  stations  through  the  chinks 
between  the  barrels.  And  late  at  night  I  fell 
asleep. 

"In  the  morning,  when  I  woke,  the  car  was 
standing  dead  still ;  and  Bill  was  gone.  I  was 
afraid  for  a  while  to  get  out  and  take  my 
chances.  But  as  I  could  not  stay  there  until 
the  strike  was  over,  I  decided  to  pile  out  the 
end  window  and  trust  to  luck,  thinking  the 
army  would  be  easy  on  a  man  with  a  wooden 
leg.  When  I  had  climbed  out  I  saw  Bill  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  a  grassy  bank  along  the  track, 
looking  down  at  a  negro  mammy  washing 
clothes  beside  a  spring.  And  from  the  way  he 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  97 

smiled  when  he  said,  'Good  morning,'  I  saw 
that  this  trouble  was  over. 

"  'Where  are  the  soldiers?'  I  asked. 

"  'Back  in  Little  Rock,  I  suppose;  I  only 
saw  one  of  them.  He  held  up  his  lantern  and 
showed  me  his  face  when  he  looked  through 
the  slats.  But  I  guess  he  did  n't  recognize  us 
through  the  barrels.  This  is  Texarkana.  I  Ve 
been  taking  a  walk  in  Texas;  I  just  got  back 
to  Arkansaw.' 

' '  He  brought  me  a  drink  of  the  spring  water 
in  a  gourd  dipper,  and  then  we  went  up  town. 
I  was  hungry,  and  I  knew  Bill  was ;  but  neither 
of  us  said  anything  about  it,  for  we  had  spent 
our  last  forty  cents  in  Hoxie. 

'  *  The  principal  thing  I  remember  about  Tex- 
arkana was  a  shanty  restaurant  called  '  John 's 
Place. '  John  had  some  pork-chops  showing  off 
in  his  window.  Bill  and  I  both  stopped  and 
looked  in  at  them.'* 

"Was  Bill  afther  holdin'  up  that  place?"  in- 
quired Finerty. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


0,"  replied  Stumpy,  paying  lit- 
tle attention  to  the  interrup- 
tion. ' '  Bill  and  I  both  stopped 
and  stood  looking  in  at  them. 
John  came  from  the  kitchen, 
walking  lame,  with  a  plate  of 
ham  and  eggs  that  he  set  down  before  a  fellow 
in  a  blue  flannel  shirt.  John  had  on  a  bed-tick 
apron,  and  you  could  see  that  he  had  cooked 
for  a  cattle  outfit  till  he  got  rheumatism,  or  a 
bullet,  and  started  in  business  for  himself. 
The  door  was  open,  and  we  could  smell  the  ham 
and  eggs. 

"Bill  and  I  watched  the  fellow  start  to  eat 
them.  Then  we  took  another  look  at  the  pork- 
chops  and  walked  away,  saying  nothing. 

"As  we  went  up  town  Bill   kept   looking 

around,  this  way  and  that,  as  if  he  expected  to 

get  breakfast  out  of  the  air.    And  that  was 

about  what  he  did. 

"At  a  street  corner  we  came  across  a  crowd 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  99 

of  people  around  a  tall  flag-pole.  The  flag  was 
about  three  quarters  of  the  way  up,  probably 
seventy-five  feet  from  the  ground.  The  ropes 
were  caught  and  tangled  in  the  splicing  of  the 
pole  near  the  top,  so  that  they  could  n't  get  the 
flag  down.  They  had  given  up  trying  to  climb, 
and  now  they  stood  about,  looking  up  at  it. 
Bill  went  away  in  a  hurry,  telling  me  to  wait. 
Pretty  soon  he  came  back  with  two  short  pieces 
of  telegraph  wire.  He  elbowed  his  way  into 
the  crowd,  saying,  'Where  's  the  boss?'  They 
pointed  out  a  man  who  was  commissioner  of 
something,  and  Bill  asked  him  for  the  job. 

* '  *  Have  you  got  a  pair  of  climbers  ? '  said  he, 
looking  Bill  over. 

"  'No, 'said  Bill. 

"  'Then  how  would  you  hang  on  to  do  the 
work,  if  }7ou  did  get  up  there  ? ' 

"  'It  's  the  knowing  how  that  I  am  supposed 
to  be  paid  for,  ain't  it?'  said  Bill. 

"  'Go  ahead;  let  's  see  you  try.  I  '11  put  a 
dollar  on  the  flag  when  you  come  down.' 

"Bill  looked  around  in  the  street  and  found  a 
cobblestone.  He  bent  one  piece  of  wire  round 
the  pole  and  fastened  the  ends  together,  making 
a  ring  around  the  pole  just  loose  enough  to  slide 
up  and  down.  When  the  ring  was  held  level  it 
would  slide,  but  when  it  was  pulled  up  or  down 


100  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

on  only  one  side  it  would  bind  and  stick.  Then 
he  cut  the  other  piece  of  wire  in  two  by  hammer- 
ing it  on  the  edge  of  the  curbing  with  the  cobble- 
stone. And  he  used  the  pieces  to  put  two 
smaller  rings  on  the  one  around  the  pole,  like 
links  of  a  chain,  one  on  each  side.  Then  he  took 
his  coat  off;  and  the  way  Bill  walked  up  that 
pole  was  a  wonder.  He  put  one  foot  in  each  of 
the  little  links,  like  stirrups,  and  threw  his  arms 
around  the  pole,  hugging  it  while  he  drew  his 
knees  up  under  his  armpits.  And  he  went  up 
like  a  monkey  on  a  stick,  drawing  both  legs  up 
together  and  then  standing  on  one  foot;  and 
when  he  straightened  out  he  would  go  up  three 
feet  at  a  time.  When  he  was  at  the  top  he  leaned 
out  and  waved  his  hat  with  one  hand  to  show 
the  commissioner  how  he  could  stand  on  the 
side  of  a  smooth  pole.  He  did  the  job  in  about 
half  a  minute.  Then  he  put  his  arms  around 
the  pole,  letting  his  legs  hang  down  straight, 
with  the  ring  level,  and  slid  down  in  a  jiffy, 
with  the  flag  coming  after  him,  and  waving,  and 
the  crowd  a-cheering.  By  the  time  he  had  got 
his  feet  out  of  the  tight  rings  the  dollar  was  on 
the  flag.  Some  man  in  the  crowd  threw  in  a 
quarter.  Bill  picked  up  his  wages,  leaving  the 
quarter  lay,  and  pushed  his  way  out  of  the 
crowd. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  101 

''When  we  were  a  distance  away  from  them 
we  looked  back.  One  of  the  men  had  his  feet  in 
the  loops  and  was  trying  to  climb.  But  each 
time  he  lifted  his  legs  and  stretched  them  out 
the  ring  would  only  slide  up  and  down  the  pole 
without  lifting  him  from  where  he  was. 

1  "I  '11  bet  that  fellow  could  n't  get  the  flag 
down  if  it  was  up  there  now,'  said  Bill. 
'There  's  tricks  in  all  trades;  and  that  one  is 
to  lift  one  foot  a  little  just  as  you  are  stepping 
on  the  other.  That  's  what  makes  the  ring 
bind.' 

"  'Did  n't  it  feel  funny  to  hang  out  up  there 
with  one  arm ! '  said  I. 

' '  '  Sort  of, '  said  Bill.  '  They  were  all  looking 
up,  with  their  mouths  open,  like  a  flock  of 
chickens  drinking  water.  It  was  kind  of 
funny. ' 

1  'We  went  back  to  'John's  Place'  and  ate  the 
chops.  And  when  we  got  through  with  the  bill 
of  fare  the  dollar  was  nearly  gone.  We  went 
down  to  the  railroad  tracks  again,  and  sat  down 
on  the  grassy  bank,  and  watched  the  negro 
mammy  finishing  her  washing.  After  a  while 
Bill  left  me  to  go  up  to  the  roundhouse  and 
look  on  the  call-board  to  see  when  the  next 
freight  pulled  out.  I  did  not  see  him  again  for 
almost  an  hour.  Then  he  came  running  back. 


102  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

' '  *  Hurry  up, '  he  said,  *  and  get  down  to  that 
string  of  cars;  they  pull  out  in  about  twenty 
minutes.  I  'm  going  to  get  provisions.'  He 
hurried  away,  taking  just  enough  time  to  open 
his  hand  and  show  me  another  dollar  that  he 
had  got. 

"  'Don't  make  it  extract  of  beef,'  I  called  out 
after  him. 

"  'Pork-chops,'  he  called  back,  'and  pie.' 

"We  went  away  in  a  box-car  half  filled  with 
lumber,  and  were  put  off  by  the  crew  in  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon— for  the  strikes  made 
it  bad.  After  that  luck  seemed  to  go  against  us 
in  every  way.  It  took  us  five  days  to  make  the 
next  three  hundred  miles.  Once  we  were  put 
off  at  a  country  road  where  there  was  nothing 
but  a  saloon  and  an  alkali  well.  The  water  we 
could  n  't  drink ;  and  in  the  saloon  there  seemed 
to  be  nothing  but  an  ivory-handled  revolver  be- 
hind the  bar.  When  the  bartender  got  back  he 
was  surprised  to  see  us.  He  made  us  some 
lemonade  to  show  us  that  the  lemon  took  the 
soapy  taste  out  of  the  alkali  water.  Before 
long  we  were  thirsty  again,  and  had  to  buy 
more.  After  that  we  sat  behind  the  saloon,  wait- 
ing for  a  train  to  come  along  and  take  us  away ; 
and  the  bartender  sat  inside,  waiting  for  us  to 
get  thirsty  again  and  come  in.  By  the  time  we 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  103 

got  away  from  there  we  had  spent  our  dollar 
for  lemonade  and  had  n't  a  cent  left. 

"Next  we  were  put  off  at  a  watering-tank 
on  a  prairie,  where  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
but  the  sun  going  down.  We  had  no  provisions 
left,  and  the  only  way  we  could  get  a  drink  was 
by  holding  our  mouths  open  and  catching  the 
water  that  dripped  down  from  a  leaky  place  in 
the  tank.  We  lay  down  on  one  of  the  founda- 
tion timbers,  intending  to  sleep  there.  But  a 
little  after  sundown  a  snake  came  and  coiled  on 
the  timber  opposite  us.  Bill  killed  the  snake 
with  a  rock,  and  we  lay  down  again.  But  we 
found  we  could  n't  sleep;  we  would  think  of 
snakes.  As  the  snakes  seemed  to  like  the  damp 
place  under  the  tank,  we  went  and  stood  up  on 
the  prairie.  While  we  were  standing  out  in  the 
night,  listening  to  the  coyotes  bark,  I  said, 
'  Bill,  I  Ve  been  thinking  it  over. ' 

"  '  Thinking  which  over  I '  said  he. 

"  'About  you  dragging  me  along.  Why 
don't  you  travel  passenger? ' 

"  'With  you?  You  can't  get  off  and  on  the 
blind  baggage  at  stations— you  'd  get  left.' 

* '  *  That  's  it, '  I  said.  '  Now,  Bill,  you  came 
to  Arkansaw  in  a  cow-catcher  yourself.  You 
could  have  been  across  the  continent  by  this 
time,  doing  it  your  own  way.' 


104  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'I  guess  I  could,'  said  he. 

"  'Well,  it  ain't  fair, '  says  I.  'You  'd  better 
travel  your  own  way  and  watch  out  for  your- 
self.' 

"  'And  what  would  you  do?' 

"  'Do  the  same  as  always— the  best  I  could.' 

"  'And  what  would  7  do?  Do  you  suppose 
any  one  would  know  I  did  n't  kill  Tiffin— seein' 
how  it  happened— if  he  was  n't  a  partner  of 
mine,  like  you ! ' 

"  'I  guess  not.  It  looks  like  you  did,  and 
they  'd  think  you  was  lyin '  about  it, '  said  I. 

"  'And  I  should  leave  a  partner  of  mine  bum- 
ming round  the  country  when  I  can  teach  him  a 
trade.  That  would  be  sense,  would  n't  it?  But 
if  you  want  to  make  a  try  of  it,  we  will  get  out 
of  here  on  the  Cannon  Ball  express. ' 

"  'And  if  I  can't  pile  aboard  at  any  station, 
and  get  left,  you  'd  better  be  going  on,  Bill,  and 
not  be  staying  back  for  me.' 

"  'Aw,  shut  up !'  he  said. 

"I  didn't  say  anything  for  a  while,  but 
stood  with  my  hands  in  my  pockets,  looking  up 
at  the  stars.  The  more  I  looked  the  more  it 
seemed  I  could  see— some  of  them  so  deep  in 
the  sky  that  my  eye  would  have  to  go  out  after 
them,  finding  more  and  more— like  as  if  I  was 
getting  used  to  looking  down  a  well. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  105 

1 1  l  Bill, '  said  I, '  did  you  ever  notice  that  there 
are  so  many  stars  as  there  are?' 

"  '  There  's  plenty  more  where  them  come 
from, '  he  said. 

"We  did  n't  say  anything  for  about  a  half 
an  hour  after  that.  And  then  Bill  found  his 
tongue  again. 

"  'Yes,1  he  said.  'We  '11  strike  a  likely  sort 
of  place  somewhere  and  make  harbor;  and 
we  '11  settle  down  and  do  any  kind  of  a  job  they 
can  bring  in  at  the  door.  Then  I  '11  have  to 
throw  my  old  name  on  the  scrap-pile  and  break 
in  a  new  one.  What  name  was  that,  perfes- 
sor?  I  've  been  trying  to  see  if  I  could  think 
of  it  for  an  hour. ' 

"It  had  gone  clean  out  of  my  head,  and  I 
could  n't  think  of  it  again. 

"  'Well,  anyway,'  said  he,  'Bill  will  have  to 
throw  up  his  job  and  give  it  to  what  's-his- 
name.  We  '11  have  to  think  of  that  name.  I  '11 
want  to  put  it  on  before  long. ' 

' '  I  stood  out  most  of  the  night,  looking  up  at 
the  stars,  trying  to  think  of  Bill's  name.  And 
once  in  a  while  I  would  hear  him  saying  names 
over,  as  if  he  was  calling  the  roll  of  himself. 

"It  was  long  after  midnight  when  the  Can- 
non Ball  express  came  to  the  tank,  and  we  got 
on  the  front  end  of  the  baggage-car.  When  the 


106  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

sparks  began  raining  back  on  us,  we  sat  low 
and  braced  our  feet,  holding  our  coats  before  us 
and  stooping  down  behind  them  to  keep  the  fire 
out  of  our  faces  and  the  wrinkles  of  our  clothes. 
Bill  made  me  take  his  coat  because  it  was  wool 
and  would  n  't  burn.  Once  he  got  afire  with  my 
thin  cotton  one,  and  the  wind  was  pushing  us 
so  hard  he  could  n't  slap  it  out.  So  he  rolled  it 
up  in  a  ball  and  put  it  out  that  way.  Every  time 
the  engine  blew  at  the  crossings— and  the  roads 
sailed  by  so  fast  that  she  was  shrieking  in  our 
ears  half  the  time— it  did  me  good  to  think  how 
we  were  leaving  that  water-tank  behind. 

"Whenever  we  made  a  station  Bill  and  I 
would  get  off  and  hide  in  the  shadow  of  the 
truck,  stooping  down  on  the  side  away  from  the 
platform  until  the  conductor  had  swung  up  his 
lantern  on  the  blind  baggage  and  seen  that  it 
was  empty.  That  night  the  conductor  seemed 
to  be  very  particular.  After  he  had  given  the 
engineer  the  signal  he  would  stand  on  the  blind 
baggage  until  she  was  in  motion,  to  make  sure. 
That  made  it  hard  for  me— running  along  and 
half  hanging  to  the  handle.  But  always,  as  the 
conductor  got  off,  Bill  would  give  me  a  boost 
that  would  put  me  aboard  again.  We  made  six 
stations  that  way,  until  finally  we  came  to  a 
place  called  Upton. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  107 

* '  There  the  conductor  stayed  on  longer  than 
usual  after  she  started.  And  just  as  she  was 
getting  too  swift  for  me  to  hang  on,  he  swung 
off  on  our  side.  Bill  was  running  low  beside 
the  truck  and  behind  me.  He  swung  aboard  al- 
most under  the  conductor's  arm,  intending  to 
give  me  a  quick  hand  and  bring  me  up  after 
him.  But  I  had  to  let  go,  and  the  conductor  ran 
against  me  about  the  middle  of  the  car,  knock- 
ing me  down,  and  stopping  himself  so  that  he 
had  to  do  quick  work  to  catch  the  platform  of 
the  next  car  himself.  As  I  got  up  the  train  was 
past  me  and  well  under  way.  I  saw  Bill  jump. 
He  fell,  rolled  over  on  the  ground,  and  I  ran 
toward  him.  But  before  I  got  to  him  he  was 
up ;  and  seeing  me  coming,  he  stood  and  waited. 

"  'Are  you  hurt,  Bill?'  said  I. 

"  'Not  much.  I  struck  the  edge  of  this  hole. 
It  looks  as  if  it  was  filled  with  long  grass  a-pur- 
pose  to  catch  me. ' 

"  'That  's  a  buffalo  wallow,'  said  I. 

' '  '  Well,  I  'm  glad  it  was  n  't  me  that  made  the 
hole.  From  what  I  've  laid  down  in  it,  it  seems 
to  be  a  pretty  good  bed.  Seein'  the  buffaloes 
ain't  usin'  it,  we  '11  roll  in.  When  we  wake  up 
we  '11  see  where  we  are. ' 

'  *  We  woke  up  in  Upton.  Upton  consisted  of 
one  street— a  dirt  road— with  the  railroad  run- 


108  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

ning  along  one  side  of  it  and  a  row  of  stores 
along  the  other.  It  was  a  country  of  rolling, 
low  hills,  with  pines  standing  scattered  on  the 
high  places,  and  small  scrub-oak  gathered  to- 
gether in  the  hollows.  A  dusty  road  crossed 
the  street  at  one  end  of  town  and  led  off  into  the 
country  across  a  patch  of  prairie.  We  heard  an 
anvil.  Bill  perked  up  as  if  it  was  a  breakfast- 
bell  and  went  off  to  investigate. 

11  'It  's  not  for  me,'  he  said  when  he  came 
back.  'It 's  a  little  shoeing-shop  that  belongs  to 
an  old  negro.  He  's  calking  a  mule. ' 

"We  followed  the  dusty  cross-road  away 
from  the  tracks.  Just  back  of  town,  and  at  one 
end  of  it,  we  came  to  a  bigger  blacksmith-shop 
that  was  locked  with  a  padlock.  Some  rusty 
tires  and  an  old  wagon-wheel  were  leaned  up 
near  the  door.  We  put  our  eyes  to  a  crack,  and 
we  could  see  the  inside  plain  by  the  light  that 
leaked  in  between  the  boarding. 

"Everything— anvils,  sledges,  mandrels,  and 
tongs,  and  the  shoes  that  hung  like  rows  of 
fringe,  brown  and  red,  on  the  rafters— was 
rusty.  Two  letters  of  a  branding-iron — an  A 
on  the  anvil  and  an  0  in  the  jaws  of  the  tongs 
on  the  forge — were  lying  just  as  some  one  had 
left  them  when  he  quit  work.  The  leather  apron 
was  lying  on  the  floor  beside  the  shoeing-kit. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  109 

Bill  went  around  all  four  sides,  putting  his  eye 
to  cracks  and  finding  more  and  more  tools  in- 
side, and  talking  about  two  mandrels  that 
seemed  to  strike  him  most— a  big  and  a  little 
one.  It  was  a  two-forge  general-repair  shop 
filled  with  tools  and  material.  It  gave  me  a 
lonesome  feeling  to  look  into  the  dark  place  and 
see  all  the  tools,  made  for  so  many  kinds  of 
noisy  work,  lying  quiet  and  rusty.  It  was  what 
you  might  call  a  dead  blacksmith-shop. 

"  'What  's  the  matter  with  it-did  n't  it 
pay?'  I  asked  Bill. 

"  'It  must  have  been  paying  when  he  quit, 
seeing  he  knocked  off  in  the  middle  of  a  job,' 
said  Bill.  'And,  judging  from  the  outfit,  he 
must  have  had  a  good  trade. ' 

"  'Then  why  is  it  sitting  idle  so  long!' 

"  'It  may  not  be  very  long.  That  's  surface 
rust.  Something  has  happened.  We  '11  have  to 
find  out  about  this. '  ' ' 

"  'T  is  a  long  shtory  av  th'  throubles  ye  had 
bef ure  ye  come  till  what  happened, ' '  remarked 
Finerty.  "I  'm  thinkin'— "  He  glanced  at 
his  big  watch,  slammed  it  shut,  gave  his  pipe  a 
sudden  slap  in  his  palm,  and  jumped  to  his  feet. 
"Me  time  has  come— I  must  be  tindin'  to  Num- 
ber Twinty-two.  Mind  ye,  don't  forget  the 
place."  And  he  hurried  away  to  the  chutes. 


CHAPTER  IX 


EVEKAL  times  that  night  Fin- 
erty  went  into  the  sand-house 
for  an  "aisy  shpell,"  and  find- 
ing his  guest  sleeping  soundly, 
he  did  not  disturb  him  for  more 
of  the  story. 
Toward  morning,  when  the  night  was  grow- 
ing gray,  thirteen  tramps  arrived  in  the  yards 
under  peculiar  circumstances.  A  box-car  laden 
to  within  a  few  inches  of  its  roof  with  cotton- 
seed was  switched  off  on  the  levee.  In  the  layer 
of  darkness  on  top  of  the  yielding  freight  the 
vagrants  had  stowed  themselves  away  at  New 
Orleans,  crowded  up  against  the  roof,  which  lay 
upon  them  as  a  wooden  covering  of  their  com- 
mon bed.  The  tramps,  having  got  the  door 
slightly  ajar,  had  managed  to  squeeze  them- 
selves one  by  one  through  a  small  unbearded 
space  at  the  top,  those  who  entered  first  burrow- 
ing back  to  remote  corners  in  order  to  make 
room  for  those  who  followed ;  and  thus  the  lit- 
110 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  111 

tie  hole,  with  its  light  and  fresh  air  and  con- 
sciousness of  liberty,  became  the  sole  property 
of  a  venerable  reprobate  who  had  the  foresight 
to  enter  last.  Thus  they  had  bowled  along  in 
mere  bestial  comfort  and  with  little  knowledge 
of  night  or  day,  except  what  they  learned  from 
the  old  fellow  at  the  mouth  of  their  burrow. 
This  one  lay  whiffing  the  brisk  air  of  an  unsea- 
sonable cold  spell  with  a  grateful  sense  of  the 
contrast  between  the  weather  without  and  the 
comfort  within ;  for  though  it  should  have  been 
spring  according  to  theories  of  the  calendar, — 
which  the  vagrants  had  too  trustingly  believed 
in  timing  their  pilgrimage  north,— there  was 
little  evidence  of  spring  outside  of  the  almanac. 

Thus  it  was  that,  as  Finerty  was  passing  the 
car  at  early  morning,  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  a  puff  of  white  breath  coming  forth 
on  the  cold  air  like  the  exhaust  of  an  engine; 
and,  looking  up,  he  discovered  a  smooth,  bald 
head  and  a  face  with  puffy  features  and  patri- 
archal amber-white  whiskers,  occupying  the 
dark  port-hole  under  the  eaves  of  the  car. 

"Did  ye  go  in  f  'r  th'  winter?"  said  Finerty, 
stopping  and  looking  up. 

"Good  morning,"  said  the  other,  blandly, 
putting  a  good  face  on  the  matter.  * '  What  town 
is  this?" 


112  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"This  is  Mimphis,  Tinnissee,  United  Shtates 
av  Amerriky,"  replied  Finerty,  with  a  look 
that  was  intended  to  be  ominously  solemn. 

" Memphis!"  shouted  the  old  man,  drawing 
his  head  in. 

At  this  there  was  a  clamoring  under  the  roof. 
The  vagrants,  having  put  themselves  in  an  im- 
prisonment to  which  one  was  the  key,  demanded 
that  he  should  get  out.  He  hesitated  and  looked 
down  on  Finerty  till  there  came  a  more  peremp- 
tory order:  "Pile  out,  Pap  Smith;  Rochester 
Red  says  so."  When  Pap  Smith  had  let  him- 
self carefully  down,  he  began  to  parley  about 
the  weather  to  Finerty,  with  an  air  that  was  all 
quiet  unconcern.  The  democratic  Irishman,  be- 
ing taken  in  for  the  moment  by  Pap's  art,  re- 
plied in  kind— and  lost  his  chance  to  exercise 
his  authority.  As  they  came  forth— ten,  eleven, 
twelve  of  them— Finerty  stood  looking  them 
over. 

'  *  Is  there  jist  a  dozen  av  yezT '  he  inquired. 

This  estimate  was  immediately  proved 
wrong  by  the  appearance  of  a  freckled  hand, 
and  then  the  one  called  Rochester  came  forth 
head  first  and  swung  nimbly  to  the  ground. 

The  full  company  now  stood  taking  in  the 
conditions  to  which  the  dark  had  delivered 
them.  They  were  covered  from  head  to  foot 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  113 

with  cotton  lint.  And,  what  was  more  impor- 
tant to  them,  their  breath  was  white  upon  the 
air. 

"Yez  look,"  remarked  Finerty,  "like  yez 
had  been  washed  whiter— yis,  whiter  than 
shnow. ' ' 

Without  paying  any  attention  to  his  re- 
marks, they  fell  to  work  to  rid  themselves  of 
the  lint,  some  rubbing  with  soft  felt  hats,  and 
others,  whose  head-gear  was  less  versatile,  cur- 
rying themselves  with  their  coat-sleeves.  But 
cotton  lint  is  not  to  be  removed  in  this  way— 
as  they  finally  observed.  Much  work  made  it 
evident  that  the  fine,  short  nap  of  the  cotton- 
seed was  fastened  deeper  by  rubbing;  it  had 
the  weaving  nature;  it  had  become  part  and 
parcel  of  their  clothes. 

"This  won't  do,"  declared  Rochester.  "If 
we  all  go  up  town  like  this,  the  police  will  have 
us  spotted." 

"Well,  if  yez  don't  make  out,"  said  Finerty, 
"come  down  till  the  chutes,  an'  I  '11  give  yez 
lave  to  coal  up  a  few  ingines.  That  '11  change 
yer  color  for  ye."  And  seeing  that  his  offer 
was  not  likely  to  be  taken,  the  foreman  of  the 
coal-chutes  walked  away  with  a  Milesian  grin. 

As  Finerty  worked  around  the  chutes  he 
looked  up  the  levee,  now  and  then,  keeping 


114  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

track  of  the  new  arrivals.  About  an  hour  af- 
terward he  saw  them  sitting  in  a  row  by  the 
river.  The  thirteen  men  were  licking  their 
palms  and  stroking  themselves  busily,  having 
discovered  that  the  telltale  lint  could  be  re- 
moved only  by  this  slow  process  of  rolling  it 
into  damp  balls  and  picking  it  off.  Finerty 
took  the  first  opportunity  to  go  back  and  en- 
tertain himself  at  their  expense. 

"Well,  how  are  yees  pussy-cats  makin' 
out?"  he  asked,  confronting  the  row.  They 
made  no  rejoinder  to  his  banter,  but  kept  on 
with  the  irksome  task,  licking  their  palms  and 
stroking  themselves. 

"It  's  wor-r-rkin'  ye  are,  ain't  it?"  said 
Finerty.  He  smiled  broadly  as  this  view-point 
of  the  situation  grew  upon  him. 

*  *  Yez  had  betther  thry  the  way  I  was  tellin ' 
yez  about."  Still  no  acceptance.  And  when 
Finerty  had  sufficiently  "had  his  fling"  at 
them,  he  went  away  again  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye. 

The  tramps,  having  worked  until  they  were 
cold  and  impatient,  gave  over  the  task  to  the 
spare  moments  of  other  days,  and  started  up 
town,  dispersing  widely  and  understanding— 
without  having  to  mention  it— that  they  were 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  115 

to  meet  one  another,  and  all  other  tramps,  that 
night  at  the  ''White  Elephant." 

Finerty,  having  satisfied  himself  that  they 
had  all  departed  from  his  domain,  unlocked 
the  sand-house  and  roused  his  imprisoned 
guest.  "We  will  now  be  lettin'  out,"  he  said. 
He  secured  the  hasp  again,  and  departed  to 
take  his  daily  sleep. 


CHAPTER  X 

NORTHERN  blizzard  had 
come  down  upon  the  South,  as 
if  winter  had  rallied  for  a  last 
charge;  and  Finerty  betook 
himself,  at  the  first  opportu- 
nity, to  the  shelter  of  the  sand- 
house.  Having  greeted  Stumpy  and  seated 
himself  inadvertently  before  a  crack  in  the 
boards,  he  shifted  over  to  get  rid  of  the  cold 
streak  that  was  playing  on  his  back,  and  went 
at  the  subject  of  the  blacksmith  immediately. 

"Ye  wor  sayin'  that  ye  an'  th'  felly  Bill 
looked  through  th'  cracks  an'  saw  th'  rusty 
blackshmith-shop.  An'  ye  said  ye  must  find 
out  how  't  was." 

"Yes,"  replied  Stumpy;  "we  could  see  that 
some  one  had  quit  work  in  the  middle  of  a  job. 
And  Bill  said:  *  Something  has  happened;  we 
will  have  to  find  out  about  this.'  A  half-used 
wagon-trail  led  from  the  main  road  past  the 
shop  and  across  a  rolling  stretch  of  green  to- 
ne 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  117 

ward  a  clump  of  oak  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  lit- 
tle hill.  The  oak-trees  were  at  the  left  of 
the  road,  and  at  the  edge  of  them  was  an  old 
frame-house  of  about  the  same  color  as  the 
bark  of  the  trees.  There  was  a  little  orchard, 
and  there  was  no  fence  around  the  orchard 
or  the  house.  Some  of  the  apple-trees  were 
standing  almost  under  the  oaks,  as  if  the  big 
trees  were  protecting  them,  and  the  house  had 
a  hallway  that  ran  clear  through  it.  It  looked 
like  two  little  houses  set  under  one  roof. 

"Off  to  the  other  side  of  the  road,  quite  a 
distance  back  on  the  open,  was  another  house— 
a  black-looking  old  cottage— with  a  garden 
fence  around  it.  We  went  up  the  wagon-trail 
and  struck  off  to  the  right  toward  the  older 
cottage.  Inside  the  fence  was  a  garden  with 
flowers  and  vines  and  rows  of  vegetables.  Most 
of  the  windows  of  the  cottage  were  broken,  and 
we  could  see  that  it  was  empty.  We  lifted  back 
the  little  picket-gate,  which  had  a  broken  hinge, 
and  went  up  the  grassy  path.  The  door  was 
partly  open.  Bill  gave  it  a  push  with  his  fin- 
ger, and  it  swung  back,  creaking.  The  front 
room  smelled  musty  and  mushroomy,  like  all 
old  empty  houses.  There  was  a  blackboard  set 
up  in  the  corner,  and  on  it  there  was  marked 
in  chalk,  'H.  W.  Longfellow— The  Skeleton  in 


118  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

Armor.'  There  were  a  dozen  or  so  of  chairs 
set  along  the  wall;  and  a  long  plank  on  two 
soap-boxes  made  a  bench  along  another  wall. 
There  was  a  small  hole  broken  in  the  old  roof, 
that  the  blue  sky  showed  through.  The 
kitchen  was  in  good  condition,  and  had  nothing 
in  it  but  an  old  cow-horn. 

"When  we  had  looked  things  over  we  came 
out  into  the  garden  again.  There  were  pota- 
toes and  tomatoes  and  peas  and  cabbage,  all 
hilled  up  and  weeded  out  neat  and  clean. 
There  were  flowers  and  vines  that  I  did  n't 
know  the  name  of,  and  there  were  morning- 
glories  climbing  up  the  sides  of  the  house, 
showing  off  pretty  blue  and  pink  against  the 
black  boards. 

1 '  ' This  is  queer  doings, '  said  Bill.  '  A  black- 
smith-shop where  nobody  works,  and  a  kitchen- 
garden  where  nobody  lives.' 

"  'It  looks  like  they  thought  the  place  was 
ha'nted,'says  I. 

"  'Well,  if  it  is,'  said  Bill,  'the  ghost  seems 
to  be  a  better  gardener  than  he  is  a  blacksmith. 
Maybe  it  belongs  to  that  Henry  What  's-his- 
name.  We  '11  inquire.' 

"I  dug  the  end  of  my  leg  into  a  hill  and 
out  rolled  a  potato.  I  put  a  few  in  my  pocket, 
thinking  we  would  build  a  fire  somewhere  and 
roast  them,  for  we  were  both  hungry. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  119 

* '  Going  out  of  the  gate,  Bill  picked  up  a  piece 
of  paper  and  read:  'Program— Afro- American 
C.  L.  S.  C.'  As  he  was  figuring  it  out,  and 
trying  to  think  what  the  letters  meant,  I  saw 
a  young  woman  come  out  of  the  house  by  the 
little  orchard.  She  came  toward  us,  swinging 
a  pink  sunbonnet  by  the  strings.  She  did  not 
seem  to  notice  us  until  she  crossed  the  wagon- 
trail.  She  stopped  a  moment,  and  then  she 
came  on  and  stood  about  twenty  feet  away 
from  us. 

"  'Good  morning,'  said  Bill,  taking  off  his 
hat  and  dropping  the  piece  of  paper  to  the 
ground. 

"  'Good  morning.  Were  you  looking  for 
somebody?' 

"  'Not  anybody  in  particular,'  answered 
Bill.  'We  want  to  find  out  about  the  black- 
smith-shop. ' 

"  'If  it  's  shoeing  you  want  done,  you  will 
have  to  go  down  to  Ephraim— the  old  colored 
man.  Our  shop  is  closed.' 

"  'Well,'  said  Bill,  'I  happened  to  look  in 
through  a  crack,  and  I  saw  the  mandrels  and 
other  tools,  and  I  thought  it  was  a  pretty  good 
lay-out  to  be  standing  idle.' 

"  'Yes,  it  is.  But  I  don't  know  as  we  care 
to  sell.  My  sister  and  I  have  thought  it  over, 
in  case  any  one  should  make  us  an  offer;  but 


120  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

we  can 't  make  up  our  minds  to  part  with  it.  If 
you  want  to  buy  the  mandrels,  I  shall  have  to 
see  her  about  it.' 

"  '  I  was  n  't  exactly  thinking  of  buying, '  an- 
swered Bill.  'I  thought  it  might  belong  to 
some  one  who  was  looking  for  a  blacksmith. 
I  'm  from  up  North— looking  round.  Fact  is, 
I  have  cast  about  for  an  opening  till  I  'm  a 
little  short  of  money;  so  I  could  hardly  buy 
it.' 

11  'A  blacksmith— from  up  North!'  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"She  had  been  swinging  her  sunbonnet 
round  till  the  string  was  all  wrapped  tight 
around  her  ringer.  She  dropped  her  arm,  and 
stood  looking  at  Bill,  the  sunbonnet  unwind- 
ing and  going  down  like  a  spider  that  seen  a 

fly. 

"  'Father  was  from  up  North.  He  used  to 
be  a  machine  blacksmith, '  she  said. 

"  'Well,  I  'm  sort  of  that  kind,  too,'  said 
Bill. 

"She  gathered  up  the  bonnet-strings,  and 
put  the  sunbonnet  on  her  head.  It  had  a  ruffled 
top  fastened  on  with  a  row  of  pearl  buttons 
round  the  edge.  As  Bill  said,  she  looked  like 
her  name  ought  to  be  Miss  Hollyhock.  And 
the  way  the  sun  shone  on  her  face  through  the 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  121 

pink  sunbonnet,  and  the  way  the  dimples  came 
into  her  cheeks  when  she  put  on  the  bonnet  and 
smiled,  she  looked  like  she  had  just  sprung 
into  bloom.  She  stood  looking  at  Bill,  as  if 
a  machine  blacksmith  was  good  for  the  eye- 
sight. She  had  been  keeping  her  distance,  but 
now  she  came  closer  and  became  sociable. 

*  <  <  We  're  hardly  situated  to  hire  a  smith  and 
run  the  place  again.  Won't  you  come  over  to 
the  house?  I  don't  remember  much  about  the 
North,  but  sister  does.  But  I  must  get  some 
vegetables  for  dinner.' 

"She  pulled  up  some  radishes,  and  chopped 
off  a  head  of  cabbage  with  the  blade  of  a  hoe 
that  had  no  handle. 

"  *I  broke  my  hoe-handle  off  short  yester- 
day,' she  said.  'I  hit  it  on  the  top  of  the  fence 
to  get  it  clean.  Sister  Eva  says  I  'm  too  strong 
to  be  a  farmer.  She  says  I  ought  to  be  a  black- 
smith. But  there  are  some  weeds  starting  in 
the  corner  over  there  that  I  will  have  to  clean 
out  when  I  get  the  handle  on  again.' 

"She  looked  up  at  us  as  she  shook  the  dirt 
off  some  onions,  and  Bill  smiled.  She  came 
out  of  the  gate  with  the  cabbage  and  radishes 
and  onions,  and  said,  'Come  along,'  throwing 
the  hoe-blade  down  beside  its  handle  at  the 
gate  and  going  on  ahead  of  us.  Bill  picked 


122  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

them  up  and  followed,  carrying  the  blade  in 
one  hand  and  the  handle  in  the  other.  As  we 
crossed  the  road  she  ran  ahead  faster,  so  that 
by  the  time  we  reached  the  house  she  was  stand- 
ing with  her  sister  before  the  steps. 

* '  The  sister  was  six  or  seven  years  the  oldest. 
She  was  more  trim  and  slender,  with  black  hair 
and  large  eyes  that  were  deep  and  dark.  As 
Bill  used  to  say,  'If  they  had  growed  on  trees, 
Nellie  would  be  a  peach  and  Eva  an  olive. '  As 
we  stopped  and  stood  before  them  Bill  lifted 
his  hat,  and  I  did  the  same  as  Bill. 

'  *  '  He  's  a  blacksmith, '  said  the  younger  one, 
pointing  to  Bill.  'And  he  's  been  looking  all 
over  for  work.' 

1  'Bill  seemed  to  lose  his  wits ;  and  I  could  sort 
of  see  why  he  was  taken  off  his  feet,  knowing 
him.  Knowing  Bill  and  how  he  felt  about  be- 
ing good  at  his  trade,  I  could  see  how  he  felt 
about  being  introduced  like  that  and  stand- 
ing like  that  before  those  girls— although  I 
could  n't  exactly  say  it  in  words.  And  when- 
ever I  thought  he  was  getting  his  wits  back 
again,  he  would  look  up  into  the  dark  one's 
eyes  and  lose  them  again.  He  looked  down  and 
began  to  turn  the  hoe-blade  over  in  his  hands, 
as  if  he  was  figuring  on  fixing  it. 

"  'He  's  from  up  North,'  said  Nellie. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  123 

"Bill  looked  up  at  the  dark-eyed  one  again, 
as  if  he  intended  to  say  something.  Then  he 
began  to  fit  the  handle  onto  the  end  of  the 
hoe,  pushing  the  splinters  together. 

"  'Did  you  try  to  get  work  down  at  Wilton?' 
said  the  older  one  in  a  kind  voice. 

"  'Wilton?    Where  is  that?'  asked  Bill. 

"  'It  's  about  twelve  miles  below— the  next 
station.  Since  father  died,  most  of  the  repair 
work  he  did  has  gone  down  there.' 

"  'Did  it?'  said  Bill,  looking  up  suddenly. 

"  'All  but  some  of  the  shoeing.  Of  course 
we  had  to  close  the  place.  And  I  suppose  we 
shall  have  to  sell,  if  we  get  a  good  offer.' 

"  'Well,  of  course  I  did  n't  know;  so  I  was 
inquiring.  I  thought  it  might  belong  to  that 
Henry  what  's- his -name  — Longfellow,'  said 
Bill. 

"  'Longfellow!'  said  both  of  them  in  a 
breath. 

' '  '  We  saw  that  name  in  the  house.  We  went 
into  the  house,'  said  Bill. 

"  'Why,  that  's  the  name  of  a  poet,'  said 
Eva,  talking  kinder  than  ever.  'The  colored 
folks  were  using  that  room  for  their  meetings. 
They  were  studying  about  him.' 

"  'And  we  use  the  garden.  They  have  a 
Chau-tau-qua, '  said  Nellie,  looking  at  Bill,  with 


124  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

the  dimples  in  her  cheeks,  and  speaking  plain 
and  kind,  like  a  school-teacher  to  a  good  boy. 
Bill  looked  down  again  and  began  digging  in 
the  socket  of  the  hoe-blade  with  the  piece  of 
steel  he  broke  jail  with.  I  was  going  to  say 
something  to  keep  the  talk  going  till  Bill  came 
to.  But  just  then  I  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket 
and  felt  the  potatoes  I  had  taken.  So  I  did  n  't 
think  of  anything. 

"  'Is  he  going  to  fix  your  hoe  for  you, 
Nellie?'  said  the  older  one. 

"  'Well,  I  did  n't  think  to  speak  of  it,'  she 
said,  smiling  in  a  way  that  let  him  down  easy. 
That  put  Bill  on  his  own  side  of  the  fence,  and 
he  brightened  up. 

"  'I  can  soon  fix  that,'  he  said.  'The 
best  way  is  to  burn  the  wood  out  of  the 
socket  in  the  forge.  Then  we  '11  taper  down 
the  end  of  the  handle  with  the  hoof-rasp, 
burn  her  in  to  get  the  taper  to  fit,  and  rivet 
her.' 

"They  invited  us  into  the  open  hallway,  giv- 
ing me  a  rocking-chair  and  Bill  a  low  stool. 
Then  they  went  into  one  of  the  rooms  off  the 
open  hallway  and  shut  the  door.  Sometimes  we 
could  hear  their  voices ;  they  were  talking  some- 
thing over.  Bill  and  I  sat  looking  out  of  the 
other  end  of  the  hallway  into  the  oak-grove. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  125 

Some  wild-looking  pigs  were  running  about 
looking  for  acorns. 

"  After  a  while  the  girls  came  out  and  took  us 
to  the  shop.  Eva  unlocked  the  door  and  fol- 
lowed us  in. 

"  'I  wish  you  would  use  the  second  forge,' 
she  said.  'And  you  will  be  careful  not  to  touch 
anything  on  the  first  anvil,  won 't  you  ?  I  would 
rather  keep  them  that  way, '  she  said,  pointing 
to  the  other  anvil. 

"Bill  stood  looking  at  the  A  of  the  branding- 
iron  on  the  anvil  and  the  0  in  the  jaws  of  the 
tongs.  He  stooped  to  pick  up  the  leather  apron, 
but  suddenly  stopped  himself. 

"  'How  about  the  shoeing-kit?  Can  I  use 
anything  in  that?' 

"  'It  's  just  the  job  on  the  anvil  that  I  mean,' 
she  replied.  'And  now,  Nellie,  you  had  better 
open  the  shop  for  him  so  that  he  can  see  better. ' 

"Nellie  turned  some  wooden  buttons  along 
the  wall,  and  let  the  light  in  with  a  bang  and  a 
clatter  as  the  long  board  windows  fell  out  on 
their  hinges  and  made  window-shelves  hanging 
on  chains  toward  the  street.  When  Bill  had 
kindled  the  fire  and  blowed  it  up,  the  older  sis- 
ter went  away.  Nellie  stood  in  the  door  watch- 
ing us.  And  pretty  soon  Bill  was  talking  to  her 
free  and  easy,  amusing  himself  with  her  like  he 


126  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

did  with  anybody  that  stood  and  watched  him 
work. 

"  'That 's  a  pretty  good  show-window  you 
have  got, '  said  he.  *  You  ought  to  have  it  filled 
with  swingletree  hooks  and  yoke-rings  and 
such.  Then  you  could  keep  store. ' 

"  'I  did  keep  store,'  she  said.  'I  sold  out  all 
that  father  left.' 

"  'Have  pretty  good  custom?'  asked  Bill, 
banking  the  fire  and  sprinkling  it  from  the 
cooling-tub. 

"  'Quite  fair.  I  sold  to  pretty  near  every 
farmer  that  came  along. ' 

"  'Quite  fair,  eh?'  said  Bill,  taking  a  look  at 
her  as  he  wiped  the  rust  off  the  tongs.  '  Well,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  you  could.'  " 

Finerty  shifted  his  pipe  contemplatively  to 
the  other  side  of  his  mouth.  "  Th '  felly  Bill  was 
a  divil  wid  th'  ladies,  I  'm  thinkin'." 


CHAPTER  XI 

1  was  n  't  that, ' '  replied  Stumpy, 
"so  much  as  that  he  was  cock- 
of-the-walk  when  he  got  the 
hammer  in  his  hand.  Nellie 
answered  him,  'Yes,'  looking 
at  him  in  a  way  that  I  could 
see  she  was  getting  on  to  his  style.  *  Yes, '  she 
said ;  *  Eva  used  to  call  it  my  jewelry-shop. ' 

' '  Bill  took  the  hoe  out  of  the  fire  and  knocked 
the  wood  out  of  the  socket.  He  banked  the  fire 
again  and  went  to  work  on  the  handle.  As  he 
was  putting  the  rivet  in,  a  farmer  stopped  with 
an  ox-team  and  leaned  in  at  the  window,  watch- 
ing him  work. 

"  'Howdy,  blacksmith?  Got  the  place  goin' 
again?' 

"  '  We  're  doing  a  little  work, '  said  Bill. 
"  'Well,  I  Ve  got  a  plow-p'int  here  for  ye  to 
do, '  said  the  farmer,  swinging  up  a  plow-point 
that  he  was  carrying  with  a  piece  of  twine. 

' ' '  Does  the  soil  scour  in  these  parts  ? '  asked 
Bill. 

127 


128  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'Yes,  siree.  She  does  in  this  sandy  country. 
But  further  south  she  wads  up  on  the  moldin  '- 
board  like  chewin '-gum ;  she  sticks  like  bees- 
wax. They  have  to  use  the  scraper.  Here  she 
scours— but  she  wears  out  the  p'ints  mighty 
fast/ 

"  'Well,  it 's  an  ill  wind  that  doesn't  blow 
any  good, '  said  Bill,  heaving  on  the  bellows  till 
she  blew  up  red.  When  he  had  finished  the  hoe 
he  laid  it  on  the  shelf  and  took  up  the  plow- 
point,  looking  it  over.  'Yes— I  could  shape  it 
up  for  you,'  he  said,  hesitating  and  looking  at 
Nellie. 

' '  ' That 's  all  right ;  do  it  if  you  want  to,'  she 
said,  seeing  what  was  bothering  him.  And  as 
Bill  drew  it  red  from  the  fire  she  came  and  stood 
close,  watching  him  work.  Bill  welded  a  wing 
on  the  plow,  hammered  an  edge  on  it,  soused  it 
in  the  cooling-tub,  and  swung  it  up  on  the  shelf. 

"  'How  's  that? 'he  said. 

"  'Jest  about  right;  good  as  new,'  said  the 
farmer.  'I  '11  be  needin'  ye  to  make  a  knife- 
coulter  for  me  before  long  to  bu  'st  some  tough 
soil.'  He  laid  down  forty  cents  and  drove 
away.  Bill  walked  back  into  the  shop,  leaving 
the  money  where  the  farmer  laid  it. 

"While  he  was  untying  the  knots  of  his 
apron-strings,  he  saw  a  crooked  piece  of  iron 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  129 

on  the  floor  and  picked  it  up.  As  he  studied  it 
over  Nellie  came  and  stood  before  him,  smiling. 

"  'Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?'  she  asked. 

"  'I  was  just  trying  to  think,'  he  answered. 

"  'That  's  some  of  my  blacksmithing.  Can 
you  guess  what  it  was  going  to  be ! ' 

"  'Yours?'  said  Bill,  studying  it  harder  than 
ever.  'Was  it  going  to  be  a— a— a  hook  for  a 
clothes-line  I ' 

' '  '  No ;  it  was  going  to  be  an  eye-bolt  for  a 
yoke.  When  I  was  keeping  the  jewelry- 
shop  I  sold  a  big  eye-bolt,  and  then  I  found 
I  shouldn't  have  sold  it.  It  belonged  to 
that  yoke  over  there  that  father  had  just 
made.  Finally,  I  didn't  have  anything  left 
but  the  yoke,  and  I  couldn't  sell  that  with- 
out the  ironwork  on  it.  I  just  made  that  for 
practice.  If  I  could  have  done  that,  I  would 
have  made  one  with  a  ring  on  it.  You  would  n't 
believe  how  hard  I  worked  on  that.  It  made  me 
disgusted  with  myself.  I  thought  I  knew  how. ' 

"  'You  couldn't  weld  it.  I  see.  And  you 
turned  it  up  too  short,  anyhow.  I  guess  you  'd 
better  try  to  make  another  one.  Take  that 
length  of  rod-iron  over  there  and  put  it  in  the 
fire  so  that  it  heats  up  about  a  foot  from  the  end. 
I  '11  blow  the  fire.' 

"She  measured  off  the  distance  with  her 


130  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

knuckles  and  marked  it  off  with  the  chalk. 
Then  she  put  it  in  the  fire,  and  stood  holding  the 
long  rod  while  Bill  worked  the  bellows. 

"  'Heat,'  said  Bill,  suddenly,  grabbing  up 
the  sledge  and  the  tongs. 

"She  laid  it  across  the  hot  chisel  and  Bill  cut 
it  off,  holding  the  piece  he  wanted  in  the  tongs. 

"  'Good  job,'  said  Bill,  putting  the  short 
piece  in  the  fire  and  blowing  up  again. 

"  'I  got  along  that  far  before,'  said  Nellie. 
'But  the  hot  end  fell  down  and  burned  a  hole 
in  my  shoe.'  She  put  her  foot  forward  and 
showed  him. 

' '  '  That  's  because  you  did  n  't  have  the  right 
kind  of  a  helper,'  said  Bill.  'All  that  's  neces- 
sary to  be  a  blacksmith  is  to  have  a  good  helper 
and  then  tell  him  what  you  want.  For  instance : 
suppose  you  wanted  me  to  make  a  ring  out  of 
this. '  He  drew  it  out  at  welding-heat  and  began 
making  the  sparks  fly.  She  watched  him  as  he 
bent  it  into  a  circle,  welded  the  ends  together, 
and  then  trued  it  up  on  the  horn  as  the  red  was 
fading.  He  swished  it  around  in  the  water  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

' '  *  Now, '  said  Bill, '  all  you  would  have  to  do 
would  be  to  hold  that  and  tell  me  you  wanted  an 
eye-bolt  to  put  it  on.' 

"  'Can't  you  finish  the  one  I  started?'  said 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  131 

she,  slipping  the  big  iron  ring  on  her  wrist  like 
a  bracelet. 

"  '  All  it  needs  is  a  little  alteration,'  said  Bill. 

*  *  He  straightened  it  out  like  it  was  before  she 
began  and  gave  it  a  longer  turn-up.  Then  he 
put  it  back  in  the  fire  for  the  weld. 

"  'Stand  ready  with  the  jewelry,'  said  Bill. 
He  held  the  sparking-iron  toward  her,  and  she 
slipped  the  ring  onto  the  hook.  Bill  slapped  the 
bolt  onto  the  anvil  and  closed  the  eye.  He  let 
it  sizzle  in  the  tub  again  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"  *  What  next?'  said  Bill. 

' '  '  Now, '  she  said, '  I  want  you  to  put  it  in  that 
hole  in  the  yoke  and  rivet  it  on  with  a  washer. 
I  '11  get  you  the  washer. ' 

"Bill  brought  the  yoke  to  the  anvil  and  put 
on  the  ironwork.  When  it  was  done  he  stood 
the  yoke  on  end  and  turned  it  round  for  her  to 
look  it  over. 

"  'Is  it  all  right?' he  asked. 

' '  '  Very  good.  It  is  better  than  I  thought  we 
could  do.  Now,  if  you  will  put  it  over  there  on 
the  window-shelf  I  will  do  the  rest  myself.' 

"  'The  rest?    What 's  that?'  said  Bill. 

"  'Why,  sell  it.  Isn't  that  a  part  of  the 
trade  ? '  She  looked  at  him  with  the  dimples  in 
her  cheeks  again  and  her  eyes  sparkling  with 
deviltry.  Bill  threw  the  yoke*  across  his  neck 


132  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

and  carried  it  to  the  shelf.  He  put  the  bows 
in  it  and  stood  it  up  outside  the  window. 

1 1  As  he  walked  back  to  the  anvil  he  picked  up 
half  a  horseshoe.  '  Then  if  you  was  running  a 
shop, '  he  said,  *  I  suppose  you  would  know  what 
to  do  with  this. ' 

"  *  Whenever  the  helper  is  n't  busy  striking,' 
said  she,  'he  ought  to  turn  all  old  horseshoes 
into  swingletree  hooks  and  such  things.' 

"  'And  the  boss  should  always  be  willing  to 
let  him  practise— seeing  it  would  n't  be  much 
loss  if  he  spoiled  it, '  said  Bill,  putting  it  in  the 
fire.  She  had  been  carrying  out  the  joke  as  well 
as  Bill  did,  but  now  she  burst  out  laughing. 
But  Bill  kept  on  solemnly  with  his  apprentice- 
ship. 

' l  He  gathered  up  a  lot  of  old  horseshoes  and 
laid  them  on  the  forge,  telling  me  to  take  the 
bellows.  Pretty  soon  he  had  the  hammer  going 
at  a  great  rate  and  the  hot  hooks  dropping  from 
the  anvil.  Nellie  cooled  one  off  and  examined 
it.  And  when  he  had  about  a  dozen  made,  Eva 
came  and  looked  in  at  the  door. 

"  'Dinner  's  ready,  Nellie,'  she  called  out. 

' '  *  Dinner  's  ready, '  said  Nellie. 

"She  turned  and  searched  for  something  at 
the  back  of  the  shop. 

1 1  '  Here  's  the  soap, '  she  said,  laying  it  on  the 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  133 

anvil  where  Bill  had  just  been  hitting,  and 
bringing  him  to  a  stop.  'And  you  will  have  to 
wash  in  the  cooling-tub,  because  the  bucket  has 
fallen  to  pieces.' 

*  *  Bill  hung  his  apron  on  the  horn  and  splut- 
tered and  splashed  in  the  tub,  making  lather  on 
his  face  and  then  handing  me  the  soap  over  his 
head. 

"  'We  can  put  that  bucket  together  again,' 
said  Bill,  straightening  up  suddenly  and 
stopping  to  talk  to  her  with  the  foam  on  his 
face. 

* '  '  But  not  now, '  she  said.   '  Dinner  's  ready. ' 

''Bill  had  got  rid  of  his  ammunition-pouch 
without  letting  her  see  it  when  he  took  off  his 
coat,  rolling  it  up  inside.  As  he  unrolled  the 
coat  to  put  it  on,  he  turned  his  back  to  her  so 
that  she  would  not  see,  and  slipped  the  pouch 
into  a  corner,  with  the  revolver  pushed  in  deep 
and  out  of  sight.  I  managed  to  be  a  little  late  in 
following  them,  so  that  I  could  get  rid  of  the 
potatoes  I  had  in  my  pocket. 

"When  we  were  almost  to  the  house  Nellie 
happened  to  think  that  we  had  forgotten  the 
forty  cents,,  and  Bill  went  to  fetch  it.  When 
he  got  back  to  the  house  Eva  was  standing 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  with  the  chairs  pulled 
out. .  She  motioned  Bill  to  a  seat. 


134  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'You  can  sit  down  there,  Mr.— but  I  believe 
we  have  forgotten  to  ask  your  name. ' 

"  'My  name  's  Alonzo.  That 's  my  first 
name.  And  my  second  name  is  Dalton.  And 
my  helper's  name  is  Sidney  Marr;  but  I  call 
him  perf essor.  And  he  's  Stumpy  for  short. ' 

"  'Our  name  is  Dixon.  And  I  suppose  you 
have  heard  our  first  names.  She  's  Miss  Nellie 
and  I  'm  Eva.  Now  help  yourselves,  because 
you  must  be  hungry.  Nellie  seems  to  have 
found  plenty  for  you  to  do. '  Eva  sat  down  and 
poured  the  tea. 

"Her  mentioning  the  work  reminded  Bill  of 
the  forty  cents.  He  took  it  out  of  his  pocket  and 
laid  it  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  and  Nellie  told 
about  all  that  we  had  been  doing.  She  looked 
at  Bill  now  and  then  in  an  amused  way,  as  if  she 
expected  him  to  keep  up  his  joking.  But,  as 
Bill  used  to  say,  'A  man  is  shy  in  another  man's 
corner.'  When  he  was  at  the  forge  with  his 
sleeves  rolled  up  he  would  have  given  the  glad 
hand  to  the  Prince  of  Wales.  But  now,  in  the 
girls '  cottage,  he  felt  like  company.  He  would 
glance  at  Eva  once  in  a  while,  and  then  keep  his 
eyes  on  the  plate,  saying  little. 

"  'Yes,  we  have  been  letting  the  shop  stand 
idle,'  said  Eva,  as  we  finished  dinner  and 
pushed  our  chairs  back.  'Nellie  and  I  never 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  135 

knew  how  much  it  was  a  part  of  us  till  the  anvil 
stopped  ringing.  And  we  can't  decide  to  give 
up  being  blacksmiths,  as  you  might  say. ' 

"  'Well,  trades  is  born  and  raised  in  folks,' 
said  Bill.  'I  suppose  I  'd  be  mighty  lonesome 
and  lost  if  I  got  where  I  could  n't  smell  the  iron 
once  in  a  while.  How  's  farming  round  here? 
Do  most  of  them  own  their  own  land  ? ' 

11  'Quite  a  number  of  them,'  said  Eva.  'A 
good  many  of  the  old  settlers  are  only  good  to 
sit  around  the  depot  and  go  fishing,  just  as 
they  did  before  the  war,  letting  their  land  out. 
They  are  like  me  with  the  shop.  They  are 
neither  fixed  to  run  it  themselves  nor  to  hire 
it  run.' 

«  'Why  don't  you  follow  their  plan— run  it 
on  shares?'  said  Bill. 

"  'Why,  I  would  be  very  glad  to  do  it  with 
you,  if  you  cared  to  try  it  that  way, '  said  Eva. 
'But  I  was  thinking  you  might  not  like  it,  for 
it  might  take  you  some  time  to  get  the  work 
to  coming  again. ' 

"  'If  it  did  n't  come,  I  'd  take  the  chances. 
All  I  need  is  the  tools.  I  'd  take  it  a  month; 
and  then  if  you  did  n  't  like  it  that  way  I  would 
move  on, '  said  Bill. 

"  'I  know  a  job  now,'  suddenly  exclaimed 
Nellie,  rising  from  her  chair  and  looking  at  her 


136  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

sister.  'He  can  shoe  Will  Upton's  mare  if  any- 
body can— which  they  say  they  can't.  And 
then  we  would  have  Colonel  Upton's  trade.' 
She  turned  to  Bill  and  explained.  'Will  Up- 
ton 's  back  on  vacation  from  West  Point,  where 
he  's  learning  to  be  a  general.  Everybody  said, 
when  he  first  intended  to  break  the  black  mare, 
that  it  would  be  a  case  of  her  breaking  him— 
and  goodness  knows  they  both  need  it.  But 
she  was  the  high-spirited  kind  that  Will  likes, 
and  they  fought  it  out  till  he  got  her  broke. 
She  's  gentle  now,  except  that  she  won't  let 
a  blacksmith  touch  her.' 

'"Did  the  blacksmith  try  hard?'  asked  Bill. 

"  'Why,  down  at  Wilton  she  pretty  near 
broke  up  the  shop.  She  finally  went  out  back- 
ward through  the  side  of  it.  Ephraim  tried 
her,  too.' 

"  'Did  he  fasten  her  head  up?' 

"  'I  should  say  he  did.  He  put  the  stake- 
rope  round  her  neck  and  threw  it  over  a  rafter 
and  drew  her  up  till  you  'd  think  he  was  going 
to  hang  her.  She  stood  on  her  hind  legs  and 
waltzed  around,  and  pretty  near  pulled  the 
shop  down.  Do  you  suppose  you  could  make 
her  keep  her  legs  still  long  enough  to  get  shoes 
on  her?' 

"  'Well,  if  it  was  my  job  I  'd  go  at  it,  any- 
way,' said  Bill. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  137 

* '  '  Then  I  '11  go  and  see  him  about  it.  I  saw 
him  at  the  depot  waiting  for  some  one.  He  '11 
give  the  job  to  me.'  She  put  on  the  pink  bon- 
net, tied  a  quick  knot  under  her  chin,  and  hur- 
ried away. 

"'And  now,'  said  Eva,  pausing  as  she 
cleared  up  the  dinner  dishes,  'we  will  have  to 
decide  where  you  are  going  to  sleep.' 

"  'We  can  put  up  at  the  shop  and  call  it 
home,'  answered  Bill. 

' i '  Oh,  no ;  you  would  n  't  want  to  be  sleeping 
with  your  work  all  the  time— you  would  n't 
have  any  home  at  all  then.  I  was  thinking  the 
old  house  would  be  better— that  is,  if  you  do 
not  object  to  having  the  colored  folks  use  the 
front  room  once  a  week.  The  kitchen  is  in  good 
condition,  and  you  could  fix  it  up  to  suit  your- 
self. And  if  you  were  over  there,  we  would  n't 
be  likely  to  lose  so  much  out  of  the  garden. 
But  I  must  tell  you  that  the  society  sings 
a  great  deal  on  that  evening.' 

"  'I  like  singing  first-rate,'  said  Bill.  'I  '11 
put  some  bunks  for  me  and  my  helper  in  the 
kitchen,  and  live  there.  They  can  have  the 
other  part. ' 

"Eva  had  got  the  dishes  off,  and  now  she 
stood,  with  the  corners  of  the  table-cloth  in 
her  hands,  looking  at  the  forty  cents  that  Bill 
had  laid  in  the  middle  of  it. 


138  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'Had  n't  you  better  take  up  your  money, 
Mr.  Dalton?  I  want  to  get  the  table-cloth  off.' 

"Bill  took  it  up  and  laid  twenty  cents  down 
again.  'We  '11  start  working  on  shares  now,' 
he  said. 

"  'I  am  afraid  you  are  rather  liberal,'  said 
Eva.  'However,  we  will  say  that  we  divide 
that  way— which  will  include  your  board  and 
washing.  And  the  house-rent  costs  you  no- 
thing.' 

"  'It  'a  a  bargain,  then,'  said  Bill.  'There 
she  is  now  with  the  horse.  She  is  a  beauty. ' 

"When  we  reached  the  shop,  Nellie  had  the 
mare  at  the  door,  patting  her  neck  and  trying 
to  coax  her  in.  But  the  black  mare  had  her 
ears  perked  and  her  head  down,  sniffing  the  air 
as  if  she  smelled  trouble. 

"  'What  >s  her  name?'  asked  Bill. 

"  'Lady,'  answered  Nellie.  'Will  says  he 
don't  think  you  can  manage  her.  But  he  will 
come  over  after  a  while  to  see.' 

"  'Whoa,  Lady,'  said  Bill,  patting  her  neck. 
'We  won't  take  her  inside.  Her  getting  the 
best  of  blacksmith-shops  has  spoiled  her. 
We  '11  tackle  her  in  the  open.' 

"He  drove  a  big  staple  in  the  side  of  the 
shop  and  clinched  it.  Then  he  tied  her  to  it 
tight  and  short,  giving  her  hardly  two  inches 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  139 

of  halter,  so  that  her  nose  was  almost  against 
the  board.  Then  he  put  his  hand  on  her  shoul- 
der, and  she  made  no  objections.  But  he  no 
more  than  began  to  pass  his  hand  down  to  her 
hoof  than  she  started  the  trouble.  It  was  her 
signal  for  fight.  She  slammed  round  from  one 
side  to  another,  with  Bill  sticking  to  her  shoul- 
der and  slapping  her  back  whenever  she 
crowded  him  to  the  wall.  He  caught  her  fore 
leg  when  she  had  it  raised  and  clung  to  it  tight, 
bending  it  up  with  all  his  muscle,  so  that  it 
looked  as  if  he  was  as  strong  as  she  was.  At 
that  she  plunged  backward,  with  fight  in  her 
eye,  and  jerked  the  board  clean  off  the  side  of 
the  shop,  pulling  the  nails  top  and  bottom. 
Then  she  whisked  away  in  the  open,  with  the 
board  fastened  tight  to  her  head  by  its  middle. 
There  was  as  fine  a  wrestling-match  as  you 
would  want  to  see  between  a  horse  and  a  board. 

"Bill  did  n't  go  after  her.  He  sat  down  the 
same  as  if  he  was  waiting  for  a  piece  of  iron 
to  heat. 

"  'Now,  Lady,'  he  said,  'we  will  see  who  is 
going  to  have  their  way  this  time.'  For  he 
knew  that  the  staple  was  clinched  and  the  knot 
tight. 

* '  She  reared  and  plunged  and  whirled.  And 
every  time  she  turned  the  board  went  with  her, 


140  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

as  if  it  knew  what  Bill  wanted  it  to  do,  and  it 
slapped  her  broadside  and  stuck  her  with  the 
nails.  She  raged  back  and  forth,  bucking  and 
tossing  her  head,  but  she  could  n't  outrun  the 
board ;  she  whirled  this  way  and  that,  and  she 
could  n't  outdodge  it;  and  when  she  brought 
herself  up  short  on  her  haunches,  the  board 
slapped  round  and  came  against  her  like  a  col- 
lision. The  worse  she  got,  the  more  the  board 
beat  her.  After  a  while  she  stood  stock-still, 
with  her  tail  between  her  legs  and  her  haunches 
trembling.  She  had  made  such  a  fight  that 
now  she  was  afraid  of  herself. 

"  'The  beauty  of  it  is,'  said  Bill,  'that  a 
horse  has  only  one  spirit  to  break.'  He  rose 
from  where  he  was  sitting  and  went  to  her, 
taking  his  time  about  it,  and  giving  her  plenty 
of  chance  to  change  her  mind  and  run  from 
him,  if  she  wanted  to.  But  she  stood  waiting 
for  him  to  come  to  the  rescue;  and  her  fine 
eyes  were  looking  for  him.  He  patted  her  and 
talked  to  her.  Then  he  ran  his  hand  down  her 
leg.  She  let  him  raise  her  hoof  without  mov- 
ing. As  he  pounded  her  hoof  with  a  stone, 
to  see  whether  she  would  stand  for  shoeing,  she 
rolled  her  eyes  around  at  him  in  a  way  that 
seemed  to  say :  '  I  wonder  if  this  wise  man  can 
get  me  out  of  trouble.'  Bill  cobbled  her  with 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  141 

the  stone,  giving  her  a  chance  to  have  another 
round  with  the  board,  if  she  wanted  it;  then 
he  took  it  off  her  head  and  led  her  back  to  the 
shop.  He  put  the  board  in  the  side  of  the  shop 
where  it  belonged,  but  he  only  drove  one  nail 
top  and  bottom,  so  that  it  would  pull  off  easy ; 
and  he  tied  her  the  same  as  before. 

"He  shod  her  without  trouble.  In  fact,  she 
seemed  to  think  he  was  doing  her  a  favor,  from 
the  anxious  way  she  watched  him.  And  in  less 
than  an  hour  she  was  staked  out  on  the  prairie, 
eating  grass  contentedly,  with  four  shoes  on 
her  feet. 

"When  Will  Upton  came  to  the  shop  and 
saw  her  grazing  he  thought  the  trouble  had  not 
begun  yet. 

"  'Well,  old  man,'  said  he  to  Bill,  'you  're 
in  for  trouble.  I  thought  I  'd  come  and  take 
a  hand  in  it.' 

"  'What  trouble?'  says  Bill,  turning  the 
bucket  round  on  the  anvil,  and  working  the 
hoop  over  the  loose  staves.  '  Wait  till  I  get  this 
fixed.  If  I  stop  now  she  '11  fall  to  pieces. ' 

"When  he  had  the  staves  bound  tight,  he 
walked  out  to  the  horse,  motioning  Upton  to 
follow.  'There,'  he  said,  picking  up  a  hind 
hoof,  'I  made  them  light  for  saddle-work;  I 
suppose  those  are  about  the  weight  you  want, 


142  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

am 't  they  ? '  He  went  around  Lady  and  showed 
all  four. 

"Will  Upton  stood  speechless  for  about  a 
minute. 

"  'Did  n't  she  object?'  he  asked. 

"  'Considerable,'  said  Bill.  'But  we  over- 
ruled her  objections.' 

"  'How  did  you  shoe  her?' 

"  'First  one  leg  and  then  the  other,  same  as 
always.  Ain  't  that  the  way  they  do  it  in  these 
parts  ? ' 

' '  '  Have  a  cigar, '  said  Upton,  taking  a  cigar- 
case  from  the  jacket  of  his  fatigue-uniform, 
which  Bill  said  was  called  that  because  it  was 
so  tight  that  it  made  him  tired.  Bill  took  a 
cigar  and  began  rubbing  a  match  on  his  pants ; 
but  they  were  too  greasy  to  strike  a  light  on. 
He  picked  up  one  of  Lady's  hoofs  and  struck 
a  light  on  the  new  shoe. 

"  'Have  a  light,'  said  Bill,  handing  the 
match  to  Upton. 

' '  '  Say,  old  man,  you  're  a  regular.  That  's 
what  you  are— a  regular.  Take  another  smoke 
for  to-night.  And  if  you  ever  want  a  recom- 
mend as  farrier  just  ask  me.  How  much  does 
it  come  to  ? ' 

"  'Two-fifty  even,'  says  Bill. 

"And  that  was  all  Upton  ever  learned  of 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  143 

how  it  was  done.  As  Bill  used  to  say,  'A  man 
has  to  work  so  hard  for  the  credit  he  does  n't 
get,  he  can't  afford  to  throw  away  any  that 
comes  easy.' 

"We  went  into  the  shop  again,  and  started 
making  things  for  Nellie's  jewelry-shop. 

"  'Well,  Bill,'  says  I,  'the  girls  have  n't  quite 
got  the  upper  hand  of  you  the  way  they  had  a 
while  back— on  that  Longfellow  business.' 

"  'A  man  is  shy  in  another  man's  corner,' 
said  Bill. 

"  'Or  a  woman's  corner,'  said  I. 

"Bill  did  n't  say  anything  to  that,  but  found 
some  hammering  to  do." 

The  story  was  abruptly  stopped  by  a  screech 
from  Number  Twenty-six,  which  did  not  whis- 
tle until  it  was  almost  at  the  chutes.  Finerty, 
hearing  it  so  ominously  near,  popped  off  his 
bucket  and  out  of  the  door.  He  was  in  a  hurry 
to  ' '  make  connections. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XII 


HILE  the  evening  was  thus  be- 
ing spent,  the  thirteen  arrivals 
of  the  morning,  who  had  now 
sought  haven  at  the  "White 
Elephant,"  were  having  a 
series  of  misfortunes. 
The  "White  Elephant,"  bedroom  and  bar, 
was  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity  long  before 
dark,  the  plethora  of  patronage  being  due  to 
a  combination  of  circumstances.  Too  many 
of  these  human  birds  of  passage  had  been 
drawn  that  winter  to  a  promising  field  at  New 
Orleans,  so  that  they  had  overstocked  the  city. 
Their  appeals  to  the  public  had  become  such  an 
old  story  that  it  was  the  worst  possible  place 
for  a  vagrant  to  * '  work. ' '  Many  of  them  there- 
fore deemed  it  advisable  to  make  the  pilgrim- 
age North  earlier  in  the  season  than  instinct 
would  otherwise  have  prompted  them.  The 
arrival  of  spring,  as  officially  scheduled,  had 
made  them  too  optimistic.  At  Memphis  they 

144 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  145 

made  the  discovery  that  spring  was  late,  and 
that  it  was  phenomenally  chilly.  And  so,  with 
the  forbidding  North  before  them,  and  the  un- 
welcoming South  behind,  and  with  the  cold 
driving  them  to  shelter  as  they  halted  be- 
tween, the  "White  Elephant"  had  a  conges- 
tion of  vagrancy  which  was  hourly  growing 
greater. 

The  box-car  crew,  seeing  the  state  of  affairs, 
engaged  their  lodgings  early,  laying  down  each 
his  five  cents— five  cents  which  each  had  got  in 
his  own  characteristic  way :  Pap  Smith,  by  per- 
sonifying fallen  gentility;  Rochester  Red,  by 
exhibiting  the  loss  of  a  finger,  with  remarks 
upon  the  fatalities  of  shingle-mills  (the  truth 
being  that  he  had  been  bereft  of  it  in  his  own 
profession  of  traveling) ;  and  the  printer,  by 
putting  himself  in  evidence  at  the  "Ava- 
lanche" and  starting  a  conversation  on  Walt 
Whitman. 

The  "White  Elephant"  lodgings,  like  others 
of  their  ilk,  consisted  of  a  series  of  bunks  built 
scaffold-wise  from  floor  to  ceiling— a  sort  of 
apartment-bed  five  stories  in  height  and  cover- 
ing the  wall. 

Rough  side-boards  were  nailed  around  eacn 
story ;  and  the  length  of  it  was  subdivided  into 
beds,  or  boxes,  by  like  boards.  Here,  with  two 


146  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

in  a  bed,  some  fifty  or  sixty  guests  could  lay 
themselves  away  overnight  as  on  shelves,  the 
cheap  price  for  this  necessity  of  life  being  made 
possible  to  the  proprietor  by  the  fact  that  ex- 
tra nickels  would  go  for  luxuries  over  the  bar. 
For  as  men  of  better  repute  buy  drinks  in  or- 
der to  have  dinner  from  a  free-lunch  counter, 
the  vagrants'  saloon  carries  the  scheme  to  the 
point  of  having  sleeping-counters  which  are 
all  but  free. 

With  the  unusually  heavy  patronage,  the 
apartment-bed,  which  had  not  been  given  the 
attention  by  the  building  inspector  that  a  struc- 
ture of  so  much  responsibility  would  warrant, 
suddenly  collapsed.  With  a  thunderous  crash 
the  lodging-room  of  the  "White  Elephant" 
was  converted  into  a  pile  of  debris,  boards  and 
boarders.  And  the  suddenly  awakened  occu- 
pants had  hardly  separated  themselves  from 
the  lumber  and  taken  stock  of  scratches  and 
bruises  when  they  were  routed  forth  by  the 
fire  department,  which  had  been  called  in  the 
excitement  caused  by  the  fallen  stovepipe.  The 
box-car  crew,  after  searching  each  other  out  by 
the  white  lint  on  their  clothing,  held  council 
on  a  street  corner ;  and  after  they  had  counted 
noses  by  the  cold,  green  light  of  a  drug-store 
that  had  been  lighted  early,  they  turned,  by 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  147 

common  consent,  and  wended  their  way 
through  back  streets  to  the  police  station. 

Pap  Smith  dipped  the  pen  into  the  ink-well 
and  began  to  inscribe  his  necessary  name,  with 
a  large  flourish,  on  the  station  register,  pre- 
liminary to  a  free  bed  on  the  floor.  But  the 
station-keeper  softly  stayed  his  hand.  The 
station  floor  was  fully  occupied  by  guests 
sleeping  on  the  "soft  side  of  a  newspaper." 
And  the  sergeant,  refusing  to  engage  in  con- 
versation with  Pap  Smith,  who  had  hoped 
thereby  to  absorb  some  of  the  station  warmth, 
simply  said,  "Get  out  of  here."  Thus  again 
they  found  themselves  on  a  cold  street  corner, 
excluded  from  the  only  caravansaries  possible 
to  their  imagination. 

"This  is  hell,"  said  Rochester  Red. 

The  others,  with  turned-up  collars  and  the 
fastening  of  a  stray  button  here  and  there, 
stood  about  in  dumb  endurance,  neither  assent- 
ing nor  denying. 

"The  sand-house!"  said  Pap  Smith,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  suddenly  laying  his  forefinger 
on  Rochester's  shoulder,  as  the  idea  occurred 
to  him.  This  suggestion  needed  no  expound- 
ing. They  saw  visions  of  a  beaming,  egg- 
shaped  railroad  stove.  The  company  came  to 
attention  at  once.  With  Rochester  and  the  old 


148  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

man  in  the  lead,  and  the  printer  marking  time 
in  the  rear,  they  trailed  back  to  the  levee ;  some 
withdrawn  turtle-like  into  their  clothing,  some 
holding  their  hands  in  bottomless  pockets,  and 
all  of  them  seeing  promise  ahead  in  the  fact 
that  they  had  a  scraping  acquaintance  with  the 
host  of  the  sand-house. 

"The  sand-house,  is  it?"  queried  Finerty, 
when  he  had  finished  coaling  up  Number  Seven. 
He  held  the  lantern  before  each  face  in  turn, 
making  inspection. 

"It  's  aisy  to  see  yees  have  been  in  a  wreck. 
The  sand-house,  is  it?  And  what  worruk  are  yez 
going  to  do  to  pay  for  the  lodgin '  ?  Sure  I  have 
no  ingine  for  yees  to  coal  up  now. ' '  The  fore- 
man of  the  chutes  took  a  moment  of  deep 
thought,  with  his  arms  akimbo  and  the  lantern 
at  his  hip.  Suddenly  he  said,  "Can  anny  av 
yez  sing  or  dance  or  tell  a  shtory?" 

"He  can  sing,"  volunteered  the  printer,  in- 
dicating the  obvious  form  of  Big  George. 

'  *  Then  let  's  hear  how  ye  can, ' '  said  Finerty. 

Big  George,  urged  forward  by  several  hands 
pressing  at  his  back,  stood  forth  at  the  head  of 
the  company.  He  placed  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  and  held  up  his  head  like  a  dog  baying. 
With  his  eyes  turned  upward,  as  if  his  hungry 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  149 

nature  were  contemplating  the  skyful  of  cold 
stars  and  the  thin,  pale  slice  of  moon,  he  tried 
his  throat.  And  having  found  his  voice,  he 
gave  forth  "The  Boston  Burglar"  in  his  sweet- 
est nasal  intonations : 

"Oh,  lissen  now  a-hand  I  will  tell 
About  the  fa-hate  that  once  befell 

In  Bosti-i-in  long  ago ; 

They  brought  him  o  'er  the  stormy  brie — e-en, 
Within  a  dungeon  cell  to  pi-e-e-en, 
A-hand  that  's  the  fate  that  once  befell 

The  Bostin  Burgul— ler-r-r." 

"Sure  ye  can  sing.  But  yez  ought  to  learn 
the  words  to  'Ballyhooly';  't  is  betther  nor 
that.  Can  anny  av  yez  dance  ! ' ' 

A  besotted  hulk  whose  remainder  of  brains 
was  given  over  to  the  delusion  that  he  was 
light  on  his  feet  shambled  heavily  forward. 
He  was  immediately  intercepted  by  Rochester 
Red,  who  spurned  him  back  with  a  shove  and 
a  warning,  and  himself  cast  about  till  he  found 
a  suitable  footing  on  the  weighing-platform 
under  the  chutes.  Sweeping  about  with  his 
feet  right  and  left  to  clear  away  any  small  ob- 
struction, he  began  a  preliminary  tapping  of 
clog-steps.  Then,  with  a  sudden  clap  of  his 
hands,  he  fell  into  a  jig. 


150  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

Finerty  held  the  lantern  close  to  his  feet,  and 
watched  the  movements  critically. 

"'T  is  th'  right  way,"  he  commented. 
"'T  is  none  av  yer  naygur  wadin'  about  an' 
shcrapin '  the  flure.  Heel  an '  toe  it  is. ' ' 

Several  times  he  raised  his  lantern  to  inspect 
the  deportment  of  the  waist-line  and  shoulders 
and  the  conduct  of  the  arms  and  hands.  Fi- 
nally he  set  the  lantern  close  to  the  dancer's 
feet  and  sat  down,  the  light  snapping  from 
his  eyes.  The  rest  of  the  crew  stood  about, 
watching  the  illumined  pair  of  feet.  It 
seemed  but  half  a  man  dancing,  the  upper  part 
of  his  body  being  in  the  total  eclipse  of  the 
blackness  beneath  the  chutes.  And  the  seem- 
ing lack  of  weight  upon  them,  as  they  went 
through  the  variations,  made  it  seem  all  the 
more  like  a  mere  pair  of  legs  disporting  them- 
selves in  the  light  of  the  lantern.  Finerty 's 
smile  grew  broader  as  the  repertoire  of 
steps  was  exhibited  to  him.  He  gave  no  other 
sign  of  approbation,  except  to  repeat  at 
every  change,  "Heel  an'  toe  it  is."  With  a 
finale  of  clog,  jig,  and  breakdown,  the 
tramp  slapped  his  foot  down  with  a  weight 
that  jarred  the  beam  of  the  scales  and  walked 
off. 

"I  see  yez  can  do  that,"  said  Finerty,  aris- 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  151 

ing.  "I  'm  thinkin'  I  might  let  ye  into  th' 
sand-house. ' ' 

Again  he  took  a  spell  of  thought. 

"Can  anny  av  yez  play  th'  mouth-accordeen 
or  th'  jooce-ha-r-rp?" 

To  this  there  were  two  affirmative  replies. 

"Thin  come  alawng— I  '11  give  yees  a  thry 
for  th'  night."  And  he  led  the  way  to  the 
sand-house. 

1  i  There  't  is  for  ye, ' '  he  said,  unlocking  the 
hasp  and  ushering  them  into  the  company  of 
the  radiant  egg-shaped  stove.  "I  '11  be  back 
whin  I  'm  needin'  ye  to  do  it."  And  he  de- 
parted. 

The  occupants  spent  some  time  in  mutual 
discomfort  as  they  settled  down  in  the  small 
available  space,  using  each  other  for  pillow 
or  support  in  experimental  ways  of  sleeping 
that  no  sooner  proved  comfortable  to  some 
than  they  became  unsatisfactory  to  others. 
After  many  changes  which  ended  in  every- 
body's dissatisfaction,  a  number  of  them  de- 
cided to  climb  up  and  sleep  on  the  side  of  the 
sand-pile.  But  the  slope  was  too  steep  to  give 
them  a  resting-place,  and  they  did  not  dare  to 
throw  any  superfluity  out  of  its  proper  place 
when  they  saw  that  it  would  go  into  the  dirt 
and  coal  on  the  floor.  This  constituency  slid 


152  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

down  by  degrees  to  the  bottom  in  spite  of  their 
efforts,  and  they  finally  contented  themselves 
with  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  board  that 
bounded  its  base,  and  leaning  back  against  the 
warm  and  comfortably  fitting  material  as  in  an 
easy-chair. 

Only  Stumpy  had  been  successful  in  making 
a  bed  of  it.  He  climbed  up  higher,  drove  his 
wooden  leg  deep  into  the  sand,  and  lay  back 
full  length,  with  his  arms  behind  his  head. 
This  arrangement  relieved  the  situation  and 
solved  the  problem.  But  just  as  comfort  had 
become  unanimous,  with  no  objectionable 
knees  and  elbows,  Finerty  returned. 

He  had  a  bucket  in  his  hand.  Stepping  care- 
fully between  them,  he  forded  his  way  to  the 
coal-box  in  the  far  corner  and  let  down  the  lid. 
He  sprinkled  it  with  sand,  picked  his  way  back 
to  the  entrance,  turned  the  bucket  upside  down, 
and  sat  upon  it. 

"  'T  is  as  good  a  shtage  as  ye  'd  want,"  he 
remarked.  Then  he  brought  forth  the  short- 
stemmed  clay  pipe,  which  he  filled  with  the 
scrapings  from  his  pocket  and  carefully 
packed.  As  he  threw  his  head  back  to  avoid  the 
flames  of  the  match  so  close  to  his  face,  he 
caught  sight  of  the  one-legged  member  and 
stopped  puffing  long  enough  to  remark:  ''An' 
't  will  be  th'  wan-legged  bye  in  th'  gallery." 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  153 

From  another  pocket  he  produced  a  long,  wide 
nickel-plated  mouth-organ. 

*  "T  is  this  side  ye  are  to  play  on, ' '  said  he, 
addressing  Big  George,  and  indicating  the  par- 
ticular side  with  his  forefinger.    *  "T  is  the  side 
wid  th'  rid  paint  on  it  for  you— an'  mind  ye 
don't  be  turnin'  it  over  an'  playin'  on  me  own 
side ;  't  is  the  wan  I  kape  for  mesilf .     'T  was 
a  naygur  sp'iled  me  last  wan  wid  carelessness. 
An'  be  sure  ye  mind  what  I  'm  tellin'  ye,  or 
't  is  out  in  th'  cold  wid  yez. 

"We  will  now  have  a  sawng,  folleyed  by  jig- 
gin'  an'  reelin'  be  Misther  Rochester." 

Stumpy  got  little  sleep  that  night.  The  fea- 
tures of  that  program  would  be  a  weariness  to 
tell,  for  Finerty  conducted  two  performances 
and  would  have  insisted  on  a  third  had  not  his 
mind  reverted  to  the  story  again.  But  while 
Stumpy  was  coming  to  it— for  Pap  Smith  con- 
tinually interrupted  him  to  know  the  first  part 
—Finerty  looked  at  his  watch  and  immediately 
jumped  up. 

*  *  I  have  me  worruk  to  do, ' '  he  said.    '  *  Whin 
I  come  back  we  '11  wait  f 'r  th'  jiggin'  an'  reel- 
in'  till  we  Ve  had  th'  shtory." 

When  he  came  back  the  sand-house  was 
heavy  with  sleep,  and  the  wrecks  of  humanity 
were  strewn  upon  the  sand.  So  the  chance  for 
the  story  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

[NEKTY  awoke  in  the  parlor  at 
"three-tin  P.M.,"  and  got  up  in- 
stantly. When  he  had  gone 
through  the  simple  operation 
of  putting  on  his  trousers, 
he  proceeded  sleepily  to  the 
kitchen  and  immediately  sat  down  at  the  table, 
resting  his  elbows  on  it,  and  surveying  the 
table-cloth  in  heavy  contemplation  of  being 
fed.  Mrs.  Finerty  made  herself  busy  at  once ; 
and  when  she  had  the  meal  before  him  she  sat 
down  to  watch  him  eat. 

' '  Well,  Michael,  I  have  learned  something  th ' 
day  that  I  niver  knew  befure." 
"What is  'tl" 

"'Tis  called  iwolution;  'tis  about  animals. 
An'  there  was  a  caller  this  morning— some  one 
that  ye  know. ' ' 
"WasitDinnis?" 

* '  'T  was  not  him.  I  hear  he  has  now  gone 
away  on  a  case  again.  If  't  was  n  't  for  that  I  'd 
have  ye  go  to  th'  station  an'  thry  to  see  him 

154 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  155 

again.  An'  th'  nixt  time  ye  '11  not  be  goin'  out 
widout  yer  black  tie  on  an'  yer  shoes  shined. 
Ye  can't  tell  whin  ye  '11  be  took  up  again  for 
a  juryman  or  a  pall-bearer,  an'  be  morthifyin' 
me.  A  man  w  'u  'd  be  a  haythen  intirely  if  't  was 
n  't  for  some  wan  opposin '  him  an '  handin '  him 
a  clane  shirt.  No,  't  was  n 't  Dinnis ;  but  I  '11 
tell  ye  who  't  was.  I  was  out  in  th'  yard  dhriv- 
in'  th'  goat  away  from  th'  corner  av  th'  house; 
for  he  has  come  through,  Michael. ' '  Mrs.  Fin- 
erty  pointed  to  the  corner  of  the  kitchen,  where 
an  opening  like  a  rat-hole  led  to  outer  day— a 
result  of  the  goat  having  discovered  that  a 
foundation-beam  of  the  kitchen  was  friable  with 
age  and  temptingly  easy  to  gnaw.  ' '  I  knew  he 
w'u'd  be  comin'  through,  wid  ye  puttin'  it  off 
all  th'  time.  Ye  should  have,  annyway,  nailed 
a  tin  can  over  th'  place.  Whiniver  his  mind 
w'u'd  be  empty,  wid  nothin'  to  do,  he  w'u'd 
think  av  th'  corner  av  th'  house  again;  an'  I 
c'u'd  not  be  kapin'  me  eye  on  him  all  th'  time. 
Now  ye  will  have  to  be  findin'  more  tools  nor 
th'  hatchet.  I  'm  thinkin',  if  I  knew  the  likes 
av  th'  blackshmith  ye  are  tellin'  about,  I  w'u'd 
have  him  make  a  muzzle  for  th '  goat.  'T  is  a 
pity  a  man  like  him  should  be  a  murd'rer  whin 
there  is  so  manny  things  in  th'  worruld  to  be 
fixed." 


156  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"D'ye  mane  'twas  th'  goat  that  called?" 
asked  Finerty. 

* '  No ;  th '  idee !  I  was  shtandin '  lookin '  at  th ' 
hole  whin  I  seen  th'  goat  put  his  head  down  an' 
shtart  off,  the  way  I  knew  at  wanst  there  was 
some  one  comin'." 

"He  is  th'  fine  watch-goat,"  interpolated 
Finerty. 

'  *  Yis ;  but  he  is  not  like  a  dog,  that  w  'u  'd  have 
some  sinse  or  judgment.  I  mind  th'  goat  me 
father  had  in  th'  ould  counthry.  An'  there  was 
a  high  shtone  wall  about  me  father's  place.  An' 
th'  goat  w'u'd  be  doin'  nothin'  but  walkin'  on 
top  av  th'  wall,  back  and  forth,  like  th'  guar- 
deen  av  a  pinitintiary.  He  was  th'  fine  watch- 
goat  for  ye.  An'  whin  th'  front  dure  w'u'd  be 
open  he  w'u'd  go  up-shtairs  to  th'  front  room 
an'  be  rummagin'  in  th'  girls'  things.  I  mind 
me  father  tied  a  sthring  from  his  front  legs  till 
his  hind  wans  so  that  he  c'u'd  not  be  shteppin' 
up.  An'  from  that  on  he  w'u'd  go  up  th' 
shtairs  sideways." 

"Was  it  that  ye  learned  about  animals!"  re- 
marked Finerty.  * '  Sure  I  knew  that  bef  ure. ' ' 

"  'T  was  n't  that.  I  saw  th'  goat  shtart  off 
wid  his  head  down,  an'  I  looked  up.  An'  there 
goin'  out  av  th'  gate  again  was  a  dacint  ould 
man,  genteel  wid  age  an'  th'  white  whiskers  av 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  157 

him.  So  I  wint  and  commanded  th'  goat  to  be 
lavin '  him  alone.  An '  he  says  to  me  that  he  was 
goin'  past,  an'  c'u'd  I  shpare  him  a  dhrink  av 
wather?  I  gave  him  a  dhrink  in  th'  flowery 
cup,  an'  he  shtood  dhrinkin'  an'  shmackin'  his 
lips  an'  sayin'  't  was  th'  finest  wather  he  iver 
tasted,  an '  did  we  dig  th '  well  oursilves !  An ' 
whin  he  was  handin'  th'  cup  back  he  shtopped 
suddenly  an'  says:  'Am  I  mistaken,  or  are  ye 
Mrs.  Finerty?  I  was  thinkin'  ye  looked  fa- 
miliar to  me,'  says  he.  'I  know  yer  husband. 
He  has  been  very  kind  to  me.'  " 

"Had  he  a  pimple  on  th'  top  av  his  head?" 
inquired  Finerty. 

"I  was  n't  lookin'  that  close  at  him,"  replied 
Mrs.  Finerty.  '  *  But  he  might  'a '  had. ' ' 

"  'T  is  th'  wan  they  call  Pap  Smith.  Would 
n't  it  bate  ye  that  he  should  happen  to  come 
here  I  But  th '  likes  av  thim  are  all  over. ' ' 

"Yis;  't  was  th'  ould  man  that  is  shtoppin' 
wid  th'  thramps.  'T  is  a  pity,  Michael,  for 
he  comes  av  fine  people  an'  has  seen  his 
day  himsilf— if  't  was  n't  for  th'  palpitation. 
'T  is  bad  to  have  th'  likes  av  that  come  on 
whiniver  ye  exert  yersilf.  An'  him  that  rosy 
wid  health.  But  't  is  n't  th'  healthy  fat, 
Michael." 

"No  wan  is  kapin'  him  wid  th'  thramps  if  he 


158  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

don't  like  th'  place,"  replied  Finerty.  "An' 
what  is  it  about  th'  iwolution?" 

"I  was  goin'  to  tell  if  ye  'd  not  be  inther- 
mptin'  me.  We  were  shpakin'  av  th'  well,  an' 
him  tellin'  me  av  th'  different  layers  av  geol- 
ogy in  th'  ground;  for  he  is  eddicated,  an'  must 
be  always  improvin'  his  mind  at  th'  public  li- 
braries." 

"Whin  't  is  a  rainy  day,"  remarked  Finerty. 

"Befure  long  we  were  talkin'  about  th'  bukes 
an '  eddication,  shtartin ',  in  th '  way  I  can 't  tell, 
from  me  sayin'  somethin'  to  th'  goat.  '  'T  is 
quare  about  animals,'  says  he.  'Did  ye  iver 
hear  av  iwolutionf  says  he.  'For  't  was  a 
man  named  Darwin  invinted  it.'  " 

"What  is  't?"  inquired  Michael. 

"Well,  'tis  like  this,"  answered  Mrs.  Fin- 
erty. '  "T  is  that  animals  changes  thimsilves, 
like,  accordin'  to  th'  neighborhood  they  're  in. 
But  it  takes  a  long  time,  an'  ye  can't  see  thim  do 
it ;  for  nature  is  slow  about  makin '  thim  over. 
'T  is  like  as  if  an  elephant  was  to  be  moved  to 
th'  north  pole,  where  't  is  all  shnow  an'  ice. 
An'mabby  in  a  long  time  he  w'u'd  be  gettin'  th' 
likes  av  an  ice-pick  on  th'  ind  av  his  thrunk  for 
to  be  burrowin'  in  th'  icebergs  an'  makin'  his 
way  about. ' ' 

"An'  ye  're  belavin'  it!"  remarked  Michael. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  159 

"  'T  is  not  that  I  w'u'd  be  belavin'  it.  But 
Agnes  says  't  is  thrue.  'T  is  a  worrud  in  th' 
bukes,  an '  't  is  like  that.  Ye  don 't  suppose  I  'd 
be  takin'  the  worrud  av  ivery  wan,  only  for 
that.  An '  whilst  we  were  talkin '  I  saw  the  likes 
av  a  big  rid  bug  shtickin '  out  av  a  paper  in  his 
pocket.  'T  was  a  lobster.  He  took  it  out  to  be 
showin'  me  th'  curiosity  av  it— 't  was  some 
friends  av  his  had  given  it  to  him.  An'  d'  ye 
know,  Michael,  th'  lobster  was  both  heads  an' 
no  tails.  An '  I  says  to  him,  *  How  is  that?  Is  it 
the  heads  av  two  lobsters!' 

"'Yis,'  says  he;  "tis  that;  at  laste  I'm 
thinkin'  't  is  that,'  says  he.  An'  wid  that  he 
was  minded  to  tell  me  more  about  th'  ivvolu- 
tion.  'Have  ye  iver  noticed,'  says  he,  'how  a 
crab  does  be  walkin'  backwards  most  av  th* 
time?  Well,'  says  he,  'accordin'  to  th'  laws  av 
nature,  'twill  only  be  a  matther  av  time  till 
they  '11  be  gettin'  heads  on  th'  other  ind  to  be 
seein'  where  they  're  goin'.  'Tis  that  makes 
iwolution, '  says  he.  'An','  says  he,  'th'  lobster 
I  have  was  probably  but  two  halves;  but  I  'm 
not  sure  av  that, '  says  he ;  '  for  I  fell  down  an ' 
might  'a'  broke  it  in  two,  for  they  're  awful 
tender  acrost  th'  bellies.  It  might  have  been 
wan  av  th'  early  samples,  although  I  w'u'd  n't 
have  ye  think  it  is,'  says  he.  'An'  't  is  bound 


160  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

to  come  in  time,  accordin'  to  ivvolution.  Na- 
ture,' says  he,  'is  a  wonderful  thing  whin  ye 
come  to  shtudy  it. '  An '  he  showed  me  th '  curi- 
osity av  it.  But  I  w  'u  'd  not  want  to  be  atin '  it. 
I  am  not  much  to  ate  th'  insides  av  annything. ' ' 

' « Pass  me  th '  butther, ' '  said  Michael.  ' '  An ' 
ye  belavin'  it!" 

"  'T  is  not  that  I  'd  be  such  a  fool,"  she  re- 
plied, "except  that  Agnes  says  't  is  thrue.  An' 
'tis  th'  survival  av  th'  fittenest.  'Tis  like 
that,  an'  all  th'  t'achers  say  't  is  thrue.  'T  is 
only  that  Ibelave." 

Michael  took  another  potato  and  peeled  it 
slowly,  cut  it  up  and  buttered  it,  and  ate  it  sol- 
emnly. 

"Were  ye  sayin'  Agnes  says  'tis  thrue,  an' 
that  'tisinth'bukes?" 

"  'T  is  that  I  was  tellin '  ye. " 

Michael  took  another  potato.  ' '  Well, ' '  he  re- 
marked, "if  Agnes  says  'tis  thrue  I  have  no 
doubt  av  it.  But  at  th'  same  time  I  don't  be- 
lave  it." 

"Annyway,"  said  Mrs.  Finerty,  "he  is  that 
well  eddicated.  An '  ye  must  n  't  be  puttin '  him 
out,  Michael,  till  th'  cold  is  pasht.  'T  w'u'd  be 
a  shame.  Th'  rist  av  thim,  he  was  tellin'  me, 
are  only  jist  thramps,  except  th'  poor  wan- 
legged  bye  an'  th'  rid-haired  wan  that  has  th' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  161 

dancin '  in  him  an '  is  no  more  good  for  worruk- 
in'  than  a  piper.  An'  some  av  th'  others  that 
has  n't  got  th'  advantage  av  good  sinse,  like  ye, 
are  jist  thramps ;  but  he  says  there  is  no  harm 
in  thim.  'T  is  little  I  w'u'd  help  bummers  an' 
loafers.  But  wan  w'u'd  n't  be  denyin'  th'  fire 
to  a  human  bein'  on  a  cold  night." 

"I'm  not  mindin'  havin'  thim  about;  'tis 
company,"  replied  Michael. 

Being  thus  reminded  of  the  story-teller  at 
the  sand-house,  Mrs.  Finerty  at  once  asked  for 
the  latest  instalment  of  the  blacksmith's  ad- 
ventures ;  and  Michael  told  her  of  his  partner- 
ship with  Nellie  and  Eva  in  the  Texas  town. 

"An'  th'  two  girls  takin'  up  wid  a  mur- 
d'rer!  What  w'u'd  they  be  thinkin'  if  they 
knew  that!" 

"He  was  n't  tellin'  thim  that,"  replied  Mi- 
chael. ' '  He  was  too  sharp  for  that. ' ' 

"I  'm  thinkin'  't  is  sthrange  that  th'  wan- 
legged  bye  should  be  tellin'  ye  all  about  it— 
an'  th'  blackshmith  so  kind  to  him.  'T  w'u'd 
be  sthrange  if  he  should  be  tellin'  ye  all,  an' 
where  the  blackshmith  wint— an'  him  not 
caught  yet.  Ye  '11  have  to  be  seein'  Dinnis." 

"Th'  felly  Shtoompy  is  shtarted  to  tellin'  it 
now,"  said  Finerty;  "an'  there  is  no  way  for 
him  but  to  be  kapin'  on  this  kind  av  weather. 


162  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 


An'  Dinnis  will  be  back  befure  Soonda',  ye  're 
sayin'." 

1 1  Mabby  he  won 't  be  tellin '  ye  all,  even  if  he 
is  shtarted,"  replied  Mrs.  Finerty.  "If  the 
blackshmith  is  not  caught  yet,  he  will  be  tellin' 
ye  that  he  was  caught  or  is  dead,  or  mabby 
proved  innocint  or  th'  likes  av  that.  He  'd  not 
be  tellin '  on  him. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Finerty,  "he  is  th'  kind  that 
ye  can  see  w'u'd  not  be  good  at  makin'  up 
annything.  An'  th'  way  he  's  shtarted  he  will 
have  to  tell  it  like  't  is  thrue— wid  ivery  little 
part  av  it.  He  '11  have  to  kape  up  wid  th' 
thruth,  for  he  is  th'  innocint  wan  that  has  lit- 
tle lyin'  in  him." 

"Lave  him  take  his  time,  Michael;  an'  make 
him  go  on  till  th'  ind.  Then  ye  can  tell.  An' 
Dinnis  w'u'd  be  th'  wan  that  can  tell." 

Finerty  put  on  the  soft  head-piece,  which, 
not  being  a  "right  an'  lift  hat,"  as  he  said, 
could  be  donned  with  no  thought  whatever; 
and  with  the  big  pail  he  went  through  the  gate. 
But  he  had  not  gone  far  on  the  cinder-path 
when  his  wife  called,  as  she  leaned  on  the 
fence : 

"Michael  dear!" 

*  *  What  is  it  ye  want  now ! ' ' 

"Be  careful.  An'  mind  ye  get  him  to  tell  it 
all  to  ye." 


CHAPTER  XIV 


HE  tramps  began  to  straggle 
into  the  sand-house  early, 
among  the  first  being  Pap 
Smith,  who  preempted  the  most 
comfortable  location.  Stumpy 
arrived  early,  having  received 
a  peremptory  command  to  that  effect  from  the 
fiery  Rochester,  who  had  found  that  any  de- 
lay of  the  story  would  have  to  be  filled  by  him- 
self with  the  "jiggin'  an'  reelin'."  Stumpy 
had  scarcely  taken  account  of  the  last  arrival 
from  his  station  on  the  heights  when  Finerty 
came  in  and  sat  on  the  upturned  bucket.  Fin- 
erty turned  his  eyes  several  times  in  the  di- 
rection of  Pap  Smith,  as  if  he  intended  mak- 
ing some  personal  allusions.  But  he  evidently 
changed  his  mind,  for  when  the  pipe  was  in 
operation  he  ignored  both  the  diplomat  and 
the  dancer,  and  went  directly  at  the  story. 
"An'  so  ye  got  settled  down,  like?" 
"As  I  was  saying,"  began  Stumpy,  "on  the 

163 


164  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

afternoon  of  our  first  day  in  the  blacksmith- 
shop  we  had  no  job  in  sight.  So  we  fixed  up  the 
kitchen  of  the  old  house  while  Nellie  watched 
the  shop.  She  hung  the  new  swingletree  hooks 
outside  of  her  'jewelry-store,'  and  stood  be- 
hind the  counter  watching  for  farmers  to  go 
by.  We  built  a  bunk  in  the  corner  of  the 
kitchen,  and  Bill  made  a  bench  outside  that  we 
could  use  for  a  wash-stand  in  the  morning,  and 
sit  on  evenings  and  smell  the  flowers  in  the 
garden.  Bill  found  a  lantern  in  the  shop,  and 
he  hung  a  wire  from  a  hook  in  the  middle  of 
the  ceiling,  so  that  we  could  use  the  lantern 
for  a  chandelier.  Eva  gave  us  some  blankets 
and  an  empty  tick  which  Bill  got  filled  with  hay 
at  the  feed-store.  We  took  two  of  the  Chautau- 
qua  chairs  out  of  the  front  room,  and  then  we 
had  a  home  of  our  own. 

"During  the  afternoon  Nellie  sold  a  hook  for 
ten  cents,  and  she  called  Bill  to  point  another 
plow.  That  brought  us  three  dollars  for  the 
afternoon— counting  what  we  got  for  shoeing 
Lady.  That  night  Bill  laid  the  money  in  the 
middle  of  the  supper-table,  and  after  supper 
we  divided  with  the  girls ;  and  every  night  af- 
ter that  we  settled  in  the  same  way.  Bill  and 
I  kept  our  money  in  partnership,  buying  any- 
thing that  either  of  us  needed. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  165 

"In  a  few  days  I  was  learning  to  measure 
my  blows  with  the  sledge,  and  when  to  go  from 
the  bellows  to  the  anvil  without  being  told. 
Whenever  there  was  a  chance  between  jobs  Bill 
would  let  me  practise  making  hooks  out  of  old 
shoes.  At  first  they  would  turn  out  all  shapes 
and  sizes ;  but  once  in  a  while  I  would  turn  out 
one  that  was  fit  to  sell.  When  a  farmer  came 
along  and  bought  one  of  my  hooks  and  stopped 
to  see  me  pounding  a  piece  of  red  iron— as  if 
I  was  a  blacksmith— I  felt  mighty  proud,  and 
would  pound  away  as  if  I  knew  the  trade. 
But  a  good  deal  of  Bill's  work  was  of  a  kind 
where  I  would  only  be  in  the  road ;  so  I  would 
have  to  sit  idle.  We  both  wished  that  I  could 
have  the  use  of  the  first  anvil  to  practise  on. 

1  *  After  a  couple  of  weeks  we  got  the  use  of  it 
through  a  piece  of  good  luck— or  bad  luck, 
whichever  you  might  call  it.  One  hot  morning, 
when  I  had  sprinkled  the  shop  from  the  cool- 
ing-tub, and  we  were  sitting  down,  taking  it 
comfortable,— for  there  is  n't  a  better  place  in 
summer  than  a  blacksmith-shop  with  a  dirt 
floor  when  it  is  wet  down,— Mrs.  Gulley  ap- 
peared at  the  door  trying  to  steer  a  stubborn 
pig  into  the  shop.  The  pig's  head  was  wedged 
into  a  big  tin  can  that  came  back  to  his  shoul- 
ders. The  can  was  jammed  out  of  shape,  and 


166  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

was  fitted  on  his  head  as  tight  as  if  a  black- 
smith had  shrunk  it  on.  As  the  pig  could  not 
see  where  he  was  going,  she  navigated  him  by 
the  tail,  which  she  gripped  with  one  hand ;  and 
with  the  other  she  clung  to  a  rope  that  was  tied 
around  him  behind  his  fore  legs.  The  pig 
came  to  a  sudden  stop  outside  the  door,  and 
stood  as  if  he  was  thinking  inside  the  can. ' ' 

"Mabby,"  remarked  Finerty,  "the  pig  was 
thinkin'  he  was  worrukin'  nights." 

"As  I  was  saying,  he  stopped,  and  then  he 
made  a  sudden  dash  sideways,  as  if  he  decided 
to  go  in  another  direction;  but  Mrs.  Gulley 
gave  a  strong  heave  on  his  tail  that  changed 
his  direction  and  brought  him  into  the  shop. 
She  gave  the  rope  a  turn  around  Bill's  vise, 
wiped  the  sweat  from  her  forehead  on  the  cor- 
ner of  her  apron,  and  took  a  deep  breath. 

"  'How-do,  Blacksmith?'  she  said.  'I  jest 
wonder  if  you  can  git  my  hog  out  of  this  here 
can.  Is  ther '  any  way  that  ye  can  cut  tin  I ' 

"At  this  the  pig  began  grunting. 

"  'Jest  hear  him  grunting  in  there,'  said 
Mrs.  Gulley.  'He  sounds  like  the  base  horn  in 
the  county-seat  band.  An'  ther'  ain't  no  use 
in  tryin' to  pull  it  off.  We  tried  that. ' 

"  'How  did  he  get  it  on  so  tight!'  asked  Bill. 

"  'Well,  I  '11  tell  ye  jest  how  it  come  to  be.' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  167 

She  sat  down  on  a  box  and  rolled  her  hands  up 
in  her  apron.  'Ye  see,  my  brother  out  in  the 
country  had  a  lot  of  big  sheep-dip  cans  that  he 
had  used  all  the  tobacker  juice  outen;  and  I 
got  him  to  bring  me  one  in  fer  to  set  by  the 
back  door  fer  a  swill-pail.  Well,  John  Henry 
—he  'a  the  hog— John  Henry,  whenever  he 
breaks  pen,  makes  a  bee-line  fer  the  swill- 
can.  He  could  n't  get  his  snout  more  'n 
half-way  to  bottom  by  rights.  But  bein'  as 
the  can  .'s  square— which  it  was— he  could 
keep  pushin'  his  head  in  and  bulgin'  out  the 
sides  till  it  was  fit  on  the  shape  of  his  head, 
and  awful  tight.  An'  that  way  he  could  get 
his  snout  'most  to  bottom.  An'  then  when 
he  would  find  that  it  was  stuck  on  he  would  go 
rampagin'  round  till  he  shuck  it  off— an'  then 
he  would  eat  what  he  had  spilled.  Well,  this 
here  morning,  while  I  was  makin'  some  sal'ra- 
tus  biscuit,  John  Henry  broke  pen  again,  and 
he  e  't  his  way  down  till  it  was  on  him  tighter  'n 
ever.  He  went  tearin '  round  with  his  head  shet 
up  in  the  dark,  squealin'  terrible.  When  I 
come  to  the  door  with  my  hands  full  of  dough 
from  the  sal'ratus  biscuit,  he  was  domineerin ' 
down  the  road  with  the  can  on  his  head.  And 
he  run  hellity-larrup  into  a  fence-post.  Of 
course  that  druv  it  clean  over  his  head  and 


168  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

bent  it ;  that  's  what  made  it  fit  tight  like  that. 
He  broke  down  two  of  my  apple  saplin  's.  An ' 
that  's  how  he  got  in  that  fool  fix.  An'  I 
forgot  to  tell,  he  broke  the  door  of  the  school- 
house,  crackin'  it.  Do  you  think  you  kin  black- 
smith it  off  'n  him  someways  ? ' 

"Bill  started  to  cut  it  off  with  the  tin- 
shears;  but  the  hog  would  not  stand  to  be 
worked  on.  A  hog  is  a  hard  thing  to  hold— 
especially  a  Texas  razor-back.  Mrs.  Gulley 
held  him  by  the  tail  and  a  hind  leg,  and  I 
caught  him  by  the  fore  legs ;  but  that  only  gave 
him  the  idea  of  getting  away.  Whenever  he 
felt  the  shears  on  his  head,  he  would  plunge 
about  and  knock  Bill's  legs  from  under  him. 

"  'I  '11  fix  him,'  said  Bill.  He  went  and  got 
the  ox-yoke.  He  took  out  the  bows  and  slipped 
one  of  them  up  around  the  hog's  chest  and  put 
the  yoke  on  him  that  way.  The  hog  was  a  tight 
fit,  so  that  he  spread  the  bows  some;  but  by 
squeezing  the  ends  together  we  managed  to 
get  them  through  the  holes  in  the  beam  and 
put  the  pegs  in.  Bill  put  an  iron  stake  through 
one  of  the  holes  at  the  other  end,  and  drove 
it  into  the  ground.  As  Bill  went  to  get  another 
stake  to  drive  in  the  other  hole,  the  hog  broke 
away  from  us  and  started  to  run.  But  as  he 
could  only  run  in  a  circle,  he  went  round  and 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  169 

round  the  stake,  with  the  beam  on  him— like 
a  blind  horse  running  away  on  a  pug-mill. 

"  'Lawdy  suz!'  says  Mrs.  Gulley,  'I  suppose 
John  Henry  thinks  he  is  going  somewheres. 
But  he  ain't.' 

"When  Bill  had  got  another  stake  he  slipped 
it  into  the  second  hole,  and  then  he  hit  it  a 
belt  with  the  sledge  that  stopped  the  hog  on 
the  spot.  Then  he  could  n  't  move  in  any  direc- 
tion, for,  as  Bill  said,  he  had  him  *  nailed. ' 

"  'That  '11  transfixiate  John  Henry,  I  guess,' 
said  Bill.  '  But  take  hold  of  his  tail  and  his  legs 
again,  to  make  sure  that  he  can 't  pull  out  while 
I  go  at  him.' 

'  *  The  pig  squealed  and  trumpeted  inside  the 
can. 

"  'It  hurts  his  pride  awful,'  said  Mrs.  Gul- 
ley. '  He  sounds  like  a  brass  band  gone  crazy. ' 

"Miss  Eva  and  Miss  Nellie  came  running  to 
find  what  the  trouble  was.  When  Bill  had  got 
the  can  off,  and  was  trying  to  draw  the  bow- 
pins,  John  Henry  got  his  legs  away  from  me, 
and  gave  a  jump  that  lifted  the  yoke  off  the 
inner  stake.  He  started  running  round  the  cir- 
cle again,  and  he  went  so  swift  that  when  the 
beam  came  round  and  struck  the  other  stake, 
it  pried  both  of  them  out  of  the  ground,  and  let 
him  loose,  with  the  yoke  on  him.  He  ran  about 


170  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

the  shop,  swinging  the  timber  around;  and 
whenever  he  turned  he  played  crack-the-whip 
with  it,  knocking  things  over.  As  Mrs.  Gulley 
was  heading  him  off  at  the  door,  he  banged  it 
against  the  base  of  the  first  anvil  and  knocked 
off  the  A.  That  brought  him  to  a  stop  long 
enough  for  Bill  to  get  a  stake  into  the  bow-hole 
again  and  nail  him  to  the  spot.  This  time  Bill 
got  the  bow  off;  and  John  Henry  bolted 
through  the  door  and  ran  out  on  the  prairie, 
freed  from  the  tin  can. 

"The  two  girls  were  standing  in  the  door- 
way laughing.  Bill  was  scratching  his  head, 
and  looking  down  at  the  fallen  letter.  And 
as  Bill  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  serious  at 
Miss  Eva,  she  took  in  what  was  troubling 
him.  She  picked  up  the  A,  took  the  0  out  of 
the  jaws  of  the  tongs,  and  laid  them  on  the 
anvil. 

"  'Don't  you  want  to  finish  the  branding- 
iron,  AlonzoT  she  said. 

"  'Just  as  you  say  about  it,  Miss  Eva,'  said 
Bill. 

"  'I  guess  you  were  hardly  to  blame— seeing 
how  it  happened,'  said  Eva.  'And  I  suppose, 
after  all,  that  father  would  not  want  to  see  his 
job  unfinished— although  I  could  hardly  make 
up  my  mind  to  disturb  it.  But  Hendricks  was 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  171 

inquiring  for  it  yesterday.  The  other  letter  is 
H.  Make  it  A.  0.  H.' 

"Bill  finished  the  branding-iron  that  morn- 
ing. And  that  was  how  I  happened  to  get  the 
first  anvil  to  practise  on. 

"One  evening,  about  a  week  after  that,  Bill 
quit  work  early  and  went  over  to  town.  He 
brought  home  a  looking-glass  and  a  white  shirt. 
When  we  fixed  up  our  house  we  put  up  a  row 
of  hooks  for  clothes,  and  pretty  soon  we  bought 
plenty  of  blue  shirts  and  some  extra  clothes. 
Bill  said  at  the  time  that  they  were  all  we  would 
need.  This  evening,  when  he  brought  in  the 
fancy  stuff,  he  laid  it  down  on  the  bunk  without 
asking  me  how  I  liked  it,  or  making  any  re- 
marks—not a  word.  He  hung  up  the  looking- 
glass,  with  a  shelf  under  it,  and  he  put  up  a 
separate  hook  beside  the  glass  to  hang  the 
white  shirt  on.  I  could  see  he  was  n't  going 
to  let  it  associate  with  the  common  clothes. 
Then  we  went  to  supper.  When  we  came  back 
from  the  girls '  house  I  went  and  sat  out  on  our 
bench,  smelling  the  flowers  and  waiting  for 
Bill  to  come  out,  too ;  for  it  was  Thursday  even- 
ing, and  the  Afro-Americans  would  soon  be 
coming  to  have  their  Chautauqua  in  our  front 
room.  They  studied  about  poetry  and  geol- 
ogy and  such  things,  and  they  mixed  it  up  with 


172  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

a  good  deal  of  fine  singing.  So  every  Thurs- 
day night  Bill  and  I  would  sit  out  on  the  bench 
together  in  the  evening,  smelling  the  garden 
and  enjoying  the  singing. 

"I  waited  quite  a  while,  but  Bill  did  not  come 
out.  Then  I  heard  him  spluttering  and  splash- 
ing in  the  bucket  at  the  back  door,  and  I  won- 
dered what  he  could  be  giving  himself  an  extra 
wash  for.  And  pretty  soon  he  came  round 
the  corner  of  the  kitchen,  dressed  up,  with  the 
white  shirt  on.  And  he  picked  a  red  flower 
out  of  the  garden  and  put  it  in  the  buttonhole 
of  his  coat. 

"  'You  can  listen  to  the  singing,'  he  said, 
stopping  and  looking  down  at  me  a  while  be- 
fore he  went  away.  Then  he  went  over  to  the 
girls'  house.  After  a  while  I  saw  him  sitting 
on  the  front  of  the  porch  with  both  of  them. 
Later  on,  when  I  looked  again,  there  seemed 
to  be  only  one ;  but  it  had  grown  dusk,  so  that 
I  could  n  't  see  which  one  it  was.  I  sat  and  lis- 
tened to  the  singing.  Bill  did  not  come  home 
till  meeting  was  over  and  I  had  gone  to  bed. 

"Every  Thursday  evening  after  that  he 
would  do  the  same.  One  evening,  when  we 
had  come  home  from  supper,  he  found  that  the 
girls  had  forgot  to  bring  his  shirt  back  from 
the  wash.  So  he  went  over  and  got  it,  and 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  173 

went  back  dressed  up  in  it,  as  if  he  was  calling 
on.  strangers.  When  I  would  look  over  that 
way,  in  the  dusk,  I  could  see  that  sometimes 
he  was  sitting  with  both  of  them,  and  some- 
times one  or  the  other.  I  could  n't  tell  which 
he  went  to  see ;  and  sometimes  I  wondered  if 
they  knew  and  how  they  decided.  And  every 
time  he  went  he  would  come  to  a  stop  where 
I  was  sitting  on  the  bench,  and  look  at  me  seri- 
ous and  say,  'You  can  listen  to  the  singing.' 
I  could  always  see  that  he  felt  responsible 
about  turning  his  back  on  me  for  some  one 
else  and  leaving  me  alone  like  that.  But  that 
was  all  he  would  ever  say  about  it. 

"I  kept  coming  on  at  the  trade.  Before  long 
I  could  make  a  swingletree  hook,  and  knew 
how  to  go  ahead  and  make  things  ready  on 
most  of  the  regular  work  that  came  in.  If  it 
was  a  loose  tire  I  could  take  it  off  the  wheel, 
and  when  Bill  had  it  made  smaller  I  could  build 
a  circular  fire  back  of  the  shop  and  expand  it 
and  help  put  it  on.  If  it  was  a  horse  that  came 
in  I  could  cut  the  nails  and  take  off  the  shoes, 
and  when  Bill  had  the  new  ones  fitted  and 
put  on  I  could  rasp  the  hoofs  and  finish.  And 
if  it  was  a  piece  of  welding  or  shaping  I  could 
strike  where  Bill  tapped.  As  I  was  always 
busy,  and  as  every  job  came  out  right  with- 


174  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

out  any  trouble,  I  began  to  think  that,  from 
having  such  a  good  chance,  it  would  not  be  long 
before  I  would  be  a  blacksmith. 

"One  evening,  when  we  were  sitting  on  the 
bench  looking  at  the  garden,  I  said,  'Well, 
Bill,  ain't  I  coming  on  pretty  well?' 

"  'Good  as  could  be  expected.  Stick  to  me 
four  or  five  years,  perfessor,  and  I  '11  have  you 
started  to  being  a  mechanic.' 

"  'Started! 'said  I. 

"  'Yes;  started  to  thinking  for  yourself.' 

"  'Don't  I  think  now?'  said  I. 

' '  '  Good  as  could  be  expected  for  a  man  that 
never  had  any  trade  at  all.  If  you  'd  been  a 
watchmaker  or  something  you  'd  get  along 
faster  at  this. ' 

"  'What  good  would  that  do  me  shoeing 
horses  ? '  said  I. 

"  'Well,  I  '11  explain.  When  I  first  told  you 
to  take  off  a  shoe  you  put  the  horse 's  hind  hoof 
between  your  legs  instead  of  in  your  lap.  Then, 
because  I  corrected  you  on  that,  you  started 
putting  the  front  legs  in  your  lap  instead  of  be- 
tween your  legs.  You  had  watched  me  take  off 
and  put  on  dozens  of  shoes  and  never  seen  me. 
You  had  to  be  told.  Now,  it  's  pretty  much  the 
same  all  round  in  everything,  till  you  Ve  got 
to  be  a  mechanic.  If  you  'd  been  a  mechanic 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  175 

already  you  'd  'a'  had  that  trick  stolen  and 
studied  out  the  reason  for  it  before  I  could 
have  showed  you.'  ' 

Finerty  took  out  his  pipe  at  this  and  re- 
marked: "TV  felly  Bill  was  turnin'  on  ye,  was 
n't  he?  He  wasn't  goin'  to  give  away  his 
thrade  like  ye  thought." 

"Turn  on  me!"  exclaimed  Stumpy,  rising  as 
if  he  intended  to  straighten  up  bodily  on  the 
leg  that  was  anchored  in  the  sand.  '  *  Bill  would 
never  turn  on  me.  He  was  always  square,  Bill 
was." 

"Don't  let  me  be  shtoppin'  ye,"  said  Fin- 
erty, seeing  that  the  story  might  come  to  an  un- 
timely end.  And  Stumpy  continued. 


CHAPTER  XV 


UT  I  ought  to  get  along  faster 
than  most  of  them,  because  you 
are  willing  to  show  me  all  the 
tricks,'  I  said  to  Bill. 

"  'Bern'  a  mechanic,'  says 
he,  'ain't  knowin'  a  certain 
number  of  tricks;  it  's  bein'  a  certain  kind  of 
a  man.  After  you  Ve  learned  to  be  a  mechanic 
you  '11  soon  be  a  blacksmith. ' 

"  'I  don't  exactly  understand  what  you 
mean,'  I  said. 

"  'Well,'  said  Bill,  'when  I  'm  setting  an 
iron  axle  so  the  wheels  will  track,  I  tap  it  with 
the  hammer  and  say,  "Hit  her  there,"  don't 
I?' 

"  'Yes.' 

"  'Well,  that 's  bein'  a  mechanic;  it  's 
thinkin'.' 

"Bill  sat  quiet  for  a  while.  I  guess  he  was 
thinking.  Then  he  said:  'The  best  thing  that 
ever  happened  to  me  was  being  put  at  the  trade 

176 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  177 

in  a  shop  where  they  did  n  't  want  me  to  learn 
anything— although  I  didn't  look  at  it  that 
way  at  the  time.  And  when  I  found  that  out  I 
watched  them  like  a  hawk,  and  I  kept  thinking 
about  everything  they  did.  I  had  the  satisfac- 
tion, as  you  might  say,  of  stealing  it.  And  the 
result  was  that  when  I  had  learned  what  the 
common  every-day  ones  called  the  trade,  I  kept 
going  ahead  and  thinking  and  trying  to  get  the 
best  of  things,  because  I  had  had  so  much  prac- 
tice. I  had  so  much  practice  getting  the  best  of 
men  that,  when  I  came  to  dealing  with  things 
themselves,  and  on  my  own  hook,  I  had  the 
habit  of  watching  them  sharp  and  prying  se- 
crets out  of  them.  Things  don't  tell  you  any- 
thing. You  '11  find  that  all  you  learn  from 
them  you  've  got  to  steal.  What  was  your 
father  r 

*  *  *  He  was  a  cooper, '  said  I. 

11  'Maybe  that  will  help  some;  but  it 's  for 
you  to  do  the  thinkin'  and  the  askin'.  You  've 
got  the  anvil  to  practise  on  now ;  and  I  'm  there 
all  the  time  to  steal  the  trade  from.' 

* '  The  next  day  Bill  went  away  to  Wilton  to 
look  over  a  printing-press  and  fix  it.  Before 
he  left  he  gave  me  a  tire  to  cut  down  and  try  to 
fit  on  the  old  wheel  that  was  leaning  against 
the  front  of  the  shop ;  and  he  said,  *  Whenever 


178  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

I  am  gone  be  sure  and  keep  busy.  When  you 
see  a  farmer  coming  along  get  a  piece  of  red 
iron  on  the  anvil,  and,  whatever  you  do,  make 
a  noise.  And  don't  tell  anybody  you  're  just 
learning.  When  anybody  brings  a  job  in  tell 
them  you  're  so  busy  that  they  can't  get  it  till 
to-morrow.  Then  when  I  come  back  I  '11  do 
it  all.  But,  whatever  you  do,  make  a  noise 
once  in  a  while.  The  way  to  be  a  blacksmith  is 
to  start  being  one.' 

"After  Bill  fixed  the  printing-press  and  they 
found  he  understood  machinery,  he  got  a  call 
to  go  to  another  part  of  the  county  and  tamp 
the  flues  in  a  leaky  boiler.  While  he  was  there 
he  took  a  look  at  the  engine.  He  reset  the  ec- 
centric and  fixed  the  valve  so  that  she  would 
work  with  less  steam.  He  was  particular  to 
explain  the  reason  for  it,  so  that  the  boss  would 
see  that  he  knew  what  he  was  doing.  That  way 
he  got  a  reputation,  and  before  long  he  was 
gone  a  day  or  two  out  of  every  week ;  and  when- 
ever he  was  going  he  would  set  me  at  a  job. 
'Whatever  you  do,'  he  would  say,  'keep  the 
place  busy.  If  you  run  out  of  work,  unmake  a 
hook  and  make  it  over;  you  can  always  do  it 
better.' 

"Being  left  alone  that  way  and  having  farm- 
ers call  me  'blacksmith'  was  what  put  me  to 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  179 

learning  for  myself.  The  jobs  I  took  in  seemed 
to  be  my  own— although  I  couldn't  do  them. 
And  the  next  day,  instead  of  expecting  to  be 
shown,  I  would  find  myself  stealing  the  trade 
from  Bill.  And  the  moment  I  would  pick  up 
an  idea  of  my  own  he  would  notice  it;  and  I 
would  see  him  smiling  to  himself. 

"When  Will  Upton  went  back  to  West  Point 
he  brought  Lady  into  the  shop,  and  offered  to 
sell  her  to  Bill.  He  said  he  would  rather  know 
that  she  was  in  his  hands  than  to  leave  her  with 
somebody  that  she  couldn't  get  along  with. 
Bill  and  the  girls  bought  her  in  partnership. 
We  kept  her  in  the  corner  of  the  shop,  and  we 
all  made  a  pet  of  her.  With  the  girls  bringing 
her  bread  and  cookies  and  Bill  talking  to  her 
when  he  was  n  't  working,  she  got  to  be  one  of 
the  family.  He  gave  her  lessons  in  trotting 
with  an  old  sulky  that  he  fixed  up  like  new ;  and 
sometimes  he  would  take  the  girls  out  riding, 
and  show  them  how  he  had  got  her  speeded  up. 

'  *  Finally  a  peculiar  thing  happened.  One  Sat- 
urday afternoon  we  went  blackberrying  out  in 
the  country  along  the  railroad  tracks.  We  took 
Lady  along;  for  there  was  a  farmer  up  that 
way  who  owed  Bill  money,  and  they  had  bar- 
gained to  settle  it  by  giving  Lady  a  vacation, 
and  letting  her  take  it  out  in  grass  with  a  mea- 


180  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

sure  of  corn  every  day.  When  we  got  out  to 
the  berry-patch,  Bill  left  us  beside  the  tracks 
and  took  Lady  along  a  path  through  the  thick 
woods  to  the  farm.  When  he  came  back  we  all 
went  a  little  farther  up  the  tracks,  and  found 
a  thicker  patch  of  berries  growing  along  a  rail 
fence.  We  had  a  great  deal  of  fun  seeing  who 
could  get  his  pail  filled  first.  I  found  a  bush 
loaded  with  berries  inside  a  clump  of  briers, 
where  they  were  too  far  to  reach.  So  I  climbed 
in,  not  minding  the  scratching;  and,  while  I 
was  picking  away  as  fast  as  I  could  on  my  se- 
cret bush,  I  heard  Eva  scream." 

"Ye  did!"  exclaimed  Finerty,  half  rising 
from  his  upturned  bucket,  and  staring  at 
Stumpy.  "Th'  divill" 


CHAPTER  XVI 


S  I  was  saying,"  continued 
Stumpy,  "I  heard  Eva  scream- 
ing. I  jumped  out  of  the  bush 
and  saw  her  running  up  the 
bank  to  the  tracks.  She  was 
calling  out,  'William,  Wil- 
liam!' I  jumped  along  as  fast  as  I  could  to 
her. 

"Bill  jumped  out  of  a  bush  at  the  same  time 
and  got  to  her  first. 

11  'Oh,  William,7  she  said,  'I  saw  a  snake!' 
"Bill  went  where  she  pointed  and  killed  the 
snake;  and  after  the  snake  was  dead,  all  but 
its  tail,  she  began  to  call  him  Alonzo  again.  He 
had  to  go  and  pick  berries  with  her  because  she 
was  afraid. 

"I  was  so  surprised  to  hear  her  call  him  his 
right  name,  and  I  was  so  worried  for  fear  it 
was  me  that  had  called  him  that  some  time 
when  I  wasn't  thinking,  that  I  couldn't  pick 
berries  as  fast  as  the  rest  of  them.  When  they 

181 


182  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

were  all  through  I  hadn't  my  pail  half  filled. 
The  girls  and  Bill  made  great  fun  of  me  for 
being  beat,  laughing  and  joking.  And  on  the 
way  home  she  called  him  Alonzo  the  same  as 
ever. 

' '  That  night  Bill  did  n  't  say  anything  about 
it ;  so  the  next  morning,  when  we  were  at  work, 
I  began  to  think  he  had  n 't  noticed  it,  and  I  de- 
cided I  had  better  tell  him. 

"  'Bill/  said  I,  'did  you  take  notice  what 
Eva  called  you  yesterday!' 

"  'That  was  when  the  snake  scared  her,'  said 
he,  not  seeming  to  think  much  about  it.  'She 
knows  my  name.' 

"With  that  he  went  to  hammering  so  hard 
that  I  could  n 't  talk  any  more  about  it.  When 
the  shoe  was  done  he  threw  it  down  and  started 
another,  working  the  bellows  himself,  with  his 
hand  on  his  hip,  the  way  he  always  did  when 
he  was  thinking.  Suddenly  he  said:  'Don't 
call  me  that  damn  name  any  more,  perfessor. 
I  don 't  like  that  Alonzo,  anyway ;  I  'm  sick  of 
it.' 

"  'But  you  Ve  got  to  stick  to  it  now,'  I  said. 

"  'Yes,  when  anybody  's  around;  but  when 
I  'm  eating  at  my  own  table  I  'm  going  to  be 
myself.' 

"After  that  the  girls  always  called  him  by 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  183 

his  right  name  when  I  was  around  and  no  one 
else  was.  I  wondered  what  kind  of  a  story  he 
had  fixed  up  to  make  it  seem  all  right  to  them. 
I  started  to  ask  Bill  about  it  several  times ;  but 
it  seemed,  whenever  I  would  start  that  subject, 
he  would  have  a  mighty  noisy  job  to  do  on  the 
anvil.  And  after  a  few  times  I  saw  that  it  was 
n't  all  a  happen-so,  and  I  couldn't  help  sort 
of  half  feeling  that  maybe  Bill  did  n  't  need  me 
for  a  partner  as  much  as  he  used  to ;  so  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  tend  to  my  own  business  on  that 
subject. 

"It  was  a  couple  of  weeks  after  that  when 
luck  first  started  to  go  against  Bill.  In  the 
afternoon  he  left  me  running  the  place  while  he 
went  to  buy  a  new  hat  and  another  white  shirt 
at  the  store  opposite  the  depot.  When  he  came 
back  I  could  see  that  something  was  wrong.  I 
saw  it  the  minute  he  stepped  through  the  door. 
He  slapped  his  new  hat  down  on  the  work- 
bench, and  stood  glaring  at  a  pile  of  horse- 
shoes as  if  he  was  going  to  make  them  hot  by 
looking  at  them. 

"  'What  's  the  matter,  Bill!'  said  I. 

"  'We  're  set  back— clean  back  to  Arkan- 
saw.' 

"He  punched  the  wrinkles  out  of  his  hat  and 
sat  down  on  the  shoeing-kit. 


184  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'You  remember,'  said  he,  'the  time  I  went 
up  to  the  roundhouse  at  Texarkana,  and  came 
back  with  a  dollar?  Well,  I  was  just  now 
standing  on  the  depot  platform,  watching  the 
train  come  in.  When  she  had  come  to  a  stop, 
some  one  suddenly  slapped  me  on  the  back,  say- 
ing, '  *  Here  's  the  fellow  now. ' '  I  turned  round 
so  quick  I  pretty  near  went  out  of  my  shoes; 
and  I  felt  it  shooting  through  me  to  knock  him 
down.  It  's  a  good  thing  I  thought  quick 
enough  to  hold  myself  back,  for  it  was  the  en- 
gineer holding  his  hand  out  to  me  and  grin- 
ning. He  was  motioning  to  the  fireman  and 
the  baggage-master  and  saying,  "Here  's  the 
fellow  that  fixed  my  petticoat-pipe.  He  's  the 
boy  that  done  it." 

'  *  '  Then  I  knew  who  he  was.  You  see,  that 
time  when  I  went  over  to  the  roundhouse  at 
Texarkana  to  see  whether  there  was  an  engine 
getting  ready  to  pull  out,  the  master  mechanic 
was  arguing  with  the  engineer.  The  engineer 
claimed  his  engine  did  n't  make  steam  right, 
and  he  wanted  some  one  else  called  out  for  the 
run.  But  there  was  n't  anybody  else. 

* '  '  I  got  to  talking  to  them  about  her  not  mak- 
ing steam.  I  climbed  up  on  the  boiler  and  looked 
down  the  smoke-stack,— sticking  my  blamed 
nose  into  things  the  way  I  have  n't  any  business 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  185 

to,— and  I  told  them  I  thought  it  would  be  a 
good  scheme  to  close  up  the  end  of  the  exhaust 
a  little  so  that  she  would  puff  harder  and  make 
better  suction  in  the  petticoat-pipe.  l '  It  '11  blow 
up  her  fire  better,"  says  I.  The  master  me- 
chanic said  it  was  a  good  idea;  and,  as  they 
were  short  of  machinists  on  account  of  the 
strike,  he  gave  me  the  job.  I  did  it  in  quick 
time,  because  you  and  me  was  in  a  hurry  to 
pull  out  of  the  town,  and  I  wanted  to  get  the 
engine  in  shape  so  that  we  would  have  some- 
thing to  go  on.  And  that  was  how  I  got  the 
dollar.  Well,  the  engineer  saw  me  just  now, 
and  was  glad  to  see  me.  I  wanted  to  tell  him 
to  shut  up  about  it,  but  that  would  have  been 
suspicious;  so  I  had  to  let  him  go  on.  Why, 
Stumpy,  when  you  and  I  was  put  off  that  train 
at  the  tank,  I  could  have  spoken  to  that  engi- 
neer, and  he  would  have  given  us  a  ride  if  he 
had  to  put  us  on  top  of  the  cab.  He  was  the 
same  fellow.  But  I  did  n't  do  it  because  I 
did  n't  want  any  one  to  have  any  trace  of 
where  I  was  going.  And  now  this  has  gone 
and  happened.  I  got  away  from  him  as  quick 
as  I  could  to  make  him  forget  it;  and  when  I 
left  he  was  telling  everybody  around  the  depot 
how  easy  I  doctored  her  up,  and  talking  about 
the  petticoat-pipe.* 


186  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'Well,  what  are  you  mad  about  that  for?' 
said  I. 

"  'What  for?  Why,  they  've  got  me  con- 
nected up  with  Texarkana  now;  and  we  left 
that  place  because  it  was  n  't  far  enough  away, 
did  n't  we?  Pretty  soon  we  might  as  well  have 
our  shop  in  New  Orleans.  A  couple  of  more 
jumps  like  that  will  put  us  there. ' 

"But  before  long  Bill  began  to  look  pleased. 
He  sat  twirling  the  new  hat  round  on  his  finger 
as  if  he  was  winding  up  the  smile  on  his  face. 
Suddenly  the  wrinkles  came  round  his  eyes, 
and  he  said:  'Say,  perfessor,  the  job  was  all 
right.  She  's  been  making  steam  ever  since.' 

*  *  Then  the  hat  began  to  go  slower,  till  finally 
it  run  down,  and  Bill  sat  looking  serious  again. 
He  pitched  into  the  work  and  did  more  that 
day  than  usual.  That  night  he  made  his 
Thursday  call  on  the  girls  on  Tuesday.  He 
came  home  late  with  the  old  man's  Winchester, 
and  hung  it  over  the  bunk ;  and  the  next  day  he 
took  it  to  the  shop  and  gave  it  an  overhauling. 

"Lately, when  I  looked  back  and  thought  how 
Bill  used  to  be,  it  seemed  to  me  that  some  sort 
of  a  change  had  come  over  him.  He  was  the 
same  to  me  and  other  folks,  but  he  was  n't  the 
same  to  himself ;  he  acted  more  serious  and  re- 
sponsible. He  used  to  be  the  kind  that  when- 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  187 

ever  there  was  trouble  he  would  go  at  it  like  a 
job  of  work;  but  he  wouldn't  worry  much 
about  it  beforehand.  He  was  always  a  man 
that  did  a  good  deal  of  thinking  at  his  work, 
but  now  it  seemed  that  it  was  n  't  always  the 
work  that  he  was  thinking  about.  And  now 
that  he  was  keeping  the  Winchester  over  the 
bed  and  the  revolver  always  handy,  I  began  to 
think  he  was  losing  his  nerve  from  thinking 
things  over  too  much. 

"One  day  I  said  to  him,  'Bill,  we  're  pretty 
well  fixed  now.  Everything  's  come  out  right, 
after  all— and  nothing  to  worry  about.' 

"  'Yes;  it  's  all  right-if  it  lasts.' 

"  'There  is  n't  any  reason  to  think  it  won't,' 
said  I. 

"  'And  no  knowing  that  it  will,'  said  he. 

"  'Well,'  said  I,  'when  they  pretty  near  had 
you,  you  used  to  say  you  would  take  your 
chances.  Now  there  ain't  so  many  chances. 
You  didn't  look  at  things  this  way  a  while 
back.' 

"  'Maybe  so.  But  those  days  it  was  a  case 
of  alive  or  dead  and  only  me  to  bother  myself 
about.  Now  I  'd  rather  be  alive.  That  's  dif- 
ferent.' 

' '  Sometimes,  when  I  would  sit  out  in  the  gar- 
den Thursday  evenings,  waiting  for  Bill  to 


188  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

come  home,  I  would  get  to  thinking  of  how  I 
used  to  live ;  and  it  seemed  years  ago.  The  sum- 
mer had  gone  on,  one  day  about  like  another, 
and  Thursday  nights  coming  regular,  with  me 
sitting  up  waiting  for  Bill.  And  when  I  thought 
about  how  I  used  to  live,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  it 
was  n  't  me  at  all  that  used  to  go  around  without 
a  home  and  with  nothing  to  do.  It  seemed  as 
if  it  was  somebody  else.  With  coming  and 
going  regular  and  always  knowing  what  was 
going  to  happen  next,  it  did  n't  seem  to  me  at 
all  as  if  it  could  all  depend  on  not  getting 
caught  at  it.  And  sometimes  I  would  think 
that  Bill  had  nearly  forgot  they  were  after  him 
—except  always  in  the  morning,  when  he 
would  strap  on  his  revolver  under  his  pants 
where  it  would  n't  show. 

''Along  toward  the  end  of  summer  Bill  sent 
away  to  St.  Louis  for  some  machinist  tools  and 
some  spelter  for  fixing  a  broken  casting.  He 
went  to  the  depot  a  number  of  times  to  see 
whether  they  had  come.  The  third  time  he 
came  back  to  the  shop  without  them  I  thought, 
from  the  way  he  looked  and  acted,  that  he  was 
disappointed  at  not  getting  them.  He  looked 
about  the  shop  in  a  half-alive,  downcast  sort 
of  way,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  handle  of  the 
shoeing-kit,  leaning  over  as  if  he  was  tired 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  189 

out.  It  was  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  Bill  look 
as  if  he  had  clean  given  up. 

"  'What  's  the  matter,  Bill?  Are  you  sick!' 
I  asked. 

' '  '  Stumpy,  luck  's  started  to  go  against  us. ' 

"  'Maybe  you  're  just  sick  from  worrying,' 
I  said. 

11  'We  're  connected  up  with  Memphis  and 
New  Orleans  now,  if  I  ain't  mistaken.  The 
Land  Company  excursion  just  went  through. 
I  saw  Cap  Berry,  of  the  Creole  Belle,  looking 
out  of  one  of  the  car  windows ;  I  'm  pretty  sure 
he  saw  me.' 

"  'Do  you  suppose  he  recognized  you?' 

"  'I  think  so.  When  I  came  out  of  the  ex- 
press-room onto  the  platform,  I  had  to  walk 
around  the  train  to  get  home.  I  looked  up  at  a 
window  and  I  saw  a  man's  eye  just  letting  go 
of  me;  that  was  the  way  it  seemed.  When  I 
took  a  second  look  I  saw  it  was  the  captain,  sit- 
ting and  looking  straight  ahead  as  if  he  did  not 
see  me.  It  all  happened  as  quick  as  a  wink; 
but  it  went  through  me  that  he  had  been  look- 
ing at  me ;  and  of  course  he  knows  I  'm 
wanted. ' 

"  'I  don't  think  he  saw  you,'  I  said. 

"  'Think  not?'  he  said,  looking  up  quick  and 
hopeful. 


190  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"He  sat  on  the  shoeing-kit  studying,  as  if  he 
had  an  idea  he  could  think  it  out.  Then  he  said : 
'  I  would  like  to  know,  one  way  or  the  other.  I 
will  go  and  ask  Eva. ' 

"After  a  while  I  went  and  looked  out  of  the 
door,  wondering  what  was  keeping  him.  I  saw 
Miss  Eva  coming  across  the  prairie  to  the  shop. 
I  waited  in  the  door  for  her,  watching  how 
pretty  she  walked.  One  time  I  heard  Will  Up- 
ton say  she  was  'the  jaunty  cadet,'  and  now  I 
could  see  what  he  meant.  She  had  on  her  black 
dress,  neat  and  slim,  with  the  red  ribbon  in 
her  dark  hair;  and  she  was  coming  on  like  a 
soldier,  with  her  eyes  straight  ahead,  as  if  she 
had  particular  business  that  she  was  coming 
straight  to  do. 

"  'I  want  you  to  go  out  and  get  Lady,'  she 
said.  *  Tell  the  farmer  we  need  her,  and  that  he 
need  not  bother  about  the  two  weeks'  pasture 
that  he  still  owes  us.'  And  when  she  saw  me 
taking  off  my  apron  and  getting  ready  she 
went  back  to  the  house  without  another  word. 

' '  I  walked  up  the  tracks  and  turned  into  the 
path  that  Bill  followed  when  he  left  us  black- 
berrying.  The  farm  was  in  a  clearing,  a  mile 
or  so  back  in  the  woods,  where  there  was  no 
road.  When  the  farmer  had  given  me  a  lift  on 
Lady 's  back  and  let  down  the  bars,  he  started  to 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  191 

explain  where  I  could  find  another  road  home ; 
but  he  had  got  no  farther  than  to  point  the  way 
when  Lady  pricked  up  her  ears  with  a  whinny 
and  sprang  away  without  waiting  for  explana- 
tions. I  tried  to  bring  her  round  toward  the 
path;  but  she  kept  on  straight  through  the 
woods,  running  under  low  branches,  as  if  she 
did  not  care  whether  there  was  any  one  on  her 
back  or  not.  It  kept  me  ducking  and  dodging ; 
and  I  had  so  many  narrow  escapes  from  being 
knocked  off,  that  finally  I  lay  down,  with  my 
arms  around  her  neck,  and  gave  all  my  atten- 
tion to  hanging  on.  Sometimes  a  branch  would 
give  my  coat  such  a  brushing  that  it  would 
nearly  pull  it  off. 

"When  we  had  gone  along  like  that  for  a 
while  she  struck  a  road  and  turned  into  it. 
Here  she  let  out  another  link  in  her  throttle- 
as  Bill  would  say— and  stretched  out  as  if  she 
was  running  a  race.  I  held  fast,  hoping  I 
could  stay  on  till  she  made  her  station;  for  it 
was  plain  that  she  was  headed  for  some  place 
in  particular  and  she  would  n  't  be  stopped.  And 
I  hoped  that  it  was  the  blacksmith-shop,  and 
that  maybe  her  hurry  was  all  on  account  of 
Eva's  bread  and  cookies.  I  tried  to  pull  her 
up,  but  she  only  went  faster  on  a  stiff  rein.  I 
was  bouncing  so  that  every  time  I  went  up  I 


192  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

expected  to  come  down  and  find  that  she  had 
gone  on  and  left  me  while  I  was  in  the  air.  So 
I  dropped  the  bridle  entirely,  and  watched  out 
for  myself,  with  a  good  grip  on  her  mane. 
Once  in  a  while  she  would  let  out  a  whinny  like 
an  express-train  whistling  for  the  cross-roads. 
People  would  hear  us  thumping  along,  and 
they  would  stand  in  front  of  farm-houses  to 
see  what  was  coming ;  and  farmers  would  stop 
their  plows  to  watch  us  go. 

' '  Suddenly  she  dodged  into  another  road,  and 
we  had  n  't  gone  far  before  I  saw  it  was  the  road 
that  went  through  town.  I  tried  to  haul  her 
round  to  another  road  that  would  take  us  in  by 
a  back  way ;  for  I  did  n 't  want  to  go  down  the 
main  street  riding  like  that.  I  kept  pulling  on 
one  rein  and  hanging  on  at  the'  same  time,  but 
she  went  straight  on.  I  guess  I  was  the  worst 
but  the  swiftest  rider  that  ever  went  through 
that  town — not  excepting  cow-boys.  At  the  other 
end  of  town  she  jumped  into  the  cross-road  to 
the  left ;  and  a  few  more  bounds  brought  us  to 
the  wagon-trail,  where  she  ran  right  into  the 
door  of  the  shop  and  stood  before  Bill  at  the 
anvil. 

* '  '  You  must  have  made  ,good  time,  perf  es- 
sor,'  said  Bill,  patting  her  on  the  neck  as  I 
rolled  off.  'You  did  n't  need  to  be  in  such  a 
hurry  as  all  that.' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  193 

"'I  didn't  hurry  her  up  at  all,'  said  I,  sit- 
ting down  on  the  shoeing-kit  to  rest.  '  But  Miss 
Eva  seemed  to  think  I  ought  to  get  her  quick. 
What  did  she  say  about  the  captain  f ' 

"  'She  says  I  Ve  got  to  go— right  away.' 

11  'And  when  are  you  going  to  start!'  I  asked 
him. 

"Bill  put  a  piece  of  rod  in  the  fire,  banked  it 
up,  and  then  stood  blowing  it  and  thinking  the 
matter  over. 

"  'Oh,  I  guess  there  isn't  any  particular 
hurry, '  he  said,  taking  his  time  about  it.  And 
when  the  rod  was  heated  he  went  to  work  on  it, 
whistling  and  pounding  it  round  the  horn  to 
the  tune  of  *  The  Campbells  are  Coming. ' 

"  'You  seem  to  be  taking  things  mighty 
cheerful  to  what  you  was  a  while  back, '  said  I. 

' '  '  Oh,  well,  if  there  's  going  to  be  trouble  I 
guess  I  can  take  care  of  my  end  when  the  time 
conies— that  is,  if  it  does  come.  I  guess  it 's 
just  a  notion  of  Eva's  that  the  captain  saw  me 
and  that  there  is  any  danger.  Anyway,  it 's 
time  for  me  to  leave  here  when  I  have  to. ' 

"He  went  ahead  and  finished  the  eye-bolt, 
whistling.  I  hadn't  seen  him  as  cheerful  as 
that  since  the  time  he  was  hiding  in  the  wharf- 
boat  putting  the  ferrule  on  my  leg.  He  took 
up  a  tire  and  got  inside  of  it,  telling  me  to  hold 
it  level  on  the  anvil  while  he  gaged  it. 


194  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

1  'He  was  just  turning  round  on  his  heel  run- 
ning the  gage-wheel  round  the  inside  of  the 
tire,  when  Mrs.  Gulley  appeared  at  the  door. 
She  motioned  to  him,  jerking  her  crooked  fin- 
ger quick  toward  her  face. 

"  'Mr.  Dalton,'  she  said,  'I  'm  going  to  tell 
you  something— something  that  's  going  to 
happen.  I  hearn  that  Lant  Williams  telling  it 
to  my  boy  Dent.  I  put  my  ear  to  the  keyhole 
to  hear  what  they  was  sayin ',  because  that  no- 
account  Lant  Williams  got  my  boy  into  danger 
oncet  before— that  was  the  time  they  got  up  the 
possey  to  go  out  after  the  train-robbers.  He 
ain't  no  good  for  anything  but  that  and  to  hang 
around  the  whisky-saloon;  an',  anyway,  if 
there  'd  been  five  hundred  in  it,  or  only  five 
cents,  my  boy  Dent  'd  'a'  had  to  spend  it  all 
there.  So  when  I  hearn  what  they  was  talkin' 
about  I  stood  at  the  keyhole,  with  the  dough  on 
my  hands,— for  I  was  jest  mixin'  some  sal  'ratus 
biscuit,— an'  when  I  hearn  what  it  was  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  I  would  come  an'  tell;  an' 
I've  left  my  dough  a-settin'.  You  fixed  my 
hog  for  me  jest  for  friendship,  an'  I  says  to 
myself  that  between  you  and  Lant  there  's 
mighty  quick  choosin'.  An'  I  've  seen  how  you 
take  care  of  them  two  girls  that 's  always  been 
good  neighbors  to  me— an'  so—' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  195 

"  'When  are  they  cominT  says  Bill;  for  he 
had  dropped  his  hammer  and  was  getting  ready 
all  the  time  she  was  talking. 

"  'Law  suz!'  says  Mrs.  Gulley ;  'ef  you  knew 
it  already  ther'  wasn't  no  use  me  comin'  to 
tell.  I  thought  I  would  do  you  a  mighty  favor. 
But  they  're  gettin'  up  the  possey.  Some- 
body 's  telegrafted  something  about  you,  and 
they  're  going  to  get  you  to-night.  Thet  Lant 
don't  like  you,  nohow,  and  he  is  going  to  get 
part  of  the  money;  but  they  're  going  to  wait 
and  get  you  in  bed,  because  they  know  you  kin 
put  up  a  fight  an '  have  got  the  old  man 's  gun. 
An'  I  says  to  myself,  "I  'm  jest  goin'  to  tell 
him,  an'  my  boy  Dent  won't  be  puttin'  hisself 
in  no  sech  thing. ' '  ' 

' '  Just  then  Eva  came  to  the  door  of  the  shop. 
Bill  stood  by  the  anvil,  hitching  up  his  revol- 
ver-belt. Mrs.  Gulley  started  telling  her,  and 
explaining  about  the  saleratus  biscuit.  She 
had  n't  got  half  to  the  point  when  Eva  hur- 
ried across  the  shop  and  took  Lady  by  the 
bit. 

"  'William,'  she  said,  'go  and  get  your 
things  together— and  take  the  rifle.  I  '11  put 
something  in  the  saddle-bags  and  have  Lady 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hill.  Meet  me  there. 
And  hurry.' 


196  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"Then  she  turned  to  me  and  said,  'Keep  the 
anvil  sounding  while  he  is  doing  it. ' 

"She  stood  in  the  door  with  Lady  and  hur- 
ried Bill  up  while  he  was  getting  his  apron  off 
and  his  sleeves  rolled  down;  and  she  did  n't 
forget  to  speak  and  smile  to  Mrs.  Gulley,  say- 
ing she  would  call  on  her  and  tell  her  how  much 
obliged  she  was.  When  she  saw  that  Bill  was 
out  of  the  shop  and  headed  for  the  old  house, 
she  went  marching  away  with  Lady. 

"I  took  out  the  rod-iron  that  Bill  had  left  in 
the  fire,  and  went  to  work  on  it,  bending  it  one 
way  and  then  another,  hitting  once  on  the  iron 
and  twice  on  the  anvil. 

"After  it  turned  black  and  stiff  I  kept  clat- 
tering away  on  it,  and  kept  thinking  things 
over.  What  was  I  going  to  do  there  when  Bill 
was  gone?  Without  him  I  could  n't  do  much 
more  than  make  a  noise.  And  it  would  n  't  be 
long  until  the  noise  I  was  making  would  n't 
be  of  any  more  use.  The  rod  fell  on  the  floor, 
and  I  stood  looking  out  of  the  window.  But 
I  kept  busy  bouncing  the  hammer  on  the  anvil 
—imitating  work.  I  wished  Miss  Eva  had 
given  Bill  a  chance  to  talk  to  me  and  say  whe- 
ther I  would  ever  meet  him  anywhere  again. 
I  kept  tolling  away  on  cold  iron  till  the  place 
began  to  sound  solemn  and  empty;  and  I  felt 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  197 

as  useless  as  a  clock  that  is  striking  the  wrong 
hour.  I  could  imagine  Lant  Williams  and  the 
rest  of  them  sitting  in  the  saloon  listening  to 
it  and  thinking  Bill  was  working. 

"And  I  said  to  myself:  'When  the  posse 
comes  to  get  Bill  in  bed,  what  will  they  say 
to  me?'  I  saw  I  could  n't  get  along  in  that 
town  any  more,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  I  had 
better  leave,  too.  After  I  thought  I  had  given 
Bill  a  start  I  dropped  the  hammer,  and  went 
to  the  girls'  house.  When  I  got  to  the  back 
door  of  the  kitchen,  I  looked  up  the  steep  lit- 
tle hill  through  the  oak-trees,  and  saw  Miss 
Eva  standing  on  top  of  the  hill.  I  went  up,  too. 
There  was  Bill  rocking  away  about  a  mile  to 
the  southwest— headed  for  the  Territory.  We 
stood  and  watched  him  till  Lady  went  over  a 
distant  slope  like  a  black  speck  on  the  blue  sky. 
Then  Lady  disappeared  on  the  other  side  like 
a  coal  suddenly  going  out.  And  Bill  was  gone. 

"Then  Eva  turned  to  me  and  spoke.  'The 
posse  can  take  up  their  part  of  the  job  when- 
ever they  see  fit  to  try  it  now, '  she  said. 

1 '  '  They  '11  need  to  have  swift  horses, '  said  I. 
'That  Lady  can  go.' 

"  'If  they  get  too  hot  on  his  trail  they  '11 
hear  later  on  about  William  catching  the  posse. 
I  told  him  to  shoot  to  the  end, '  she  said.  And 


198  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

I  could  see  by  the  look  in  her  eye  that  she 
would  handle  a  rifle  herself  if  she  was  along 
with  Bill. 

"  'I  guess  he  might  as  well  make  a  fight,' 
says  I.  '  For  it  's  a  sure  case  against  him. ' 

11  l William  was  very  sorry  he  could  n't  say 
good-by  to  you, '  she  said,  speaking  in  a  milder 
way.  She  wiped  a  tear  from  the  corner  of  her 
eye  with  her  handkerchief  stretched  over  the 
end  of  her  finger.  'He  hopes,'  she  said,  'that 
some  day  he  will  come  across  you— and  us— 
again. ' 

"  'Miss  Eva,'  said  I,  'I  Ve  been  thinking  I 
had  better  get  out  of  here  myself. ' 

"  'I  Ve  been  thinking  so,  too,'  she  replied. 
'If  you  're  once  gone  they  won't  take  much 
trouble  to  get  you.  But  you  can't  take  the 
train  here.  You  will  have  to  walk  out  of  town 
and  get  on  somewhere  else.  I  '11  put  you  up  a 
lunch. ' 

' '  She  went  down  to  the  kitchen ;  and  I  stood 
a  while  looking  off  and  thinking  where  I  would 
go  to.  After  a  little  while  I  went  down  the  hill 
and  stood  at  the  kitchen  door.  Nellie  was  sit- 
ting at  the  table  holding  a  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes.  Eva  was  tying  a  string  round  the  lunch. 
She  handed  it  to  me  with  a  lot  of  paper  money 
on  top. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  199 

"  'Here  's  twenty  dollars  that  William  left 
for  you.  We  wish  it  was  ten  times  as  much,' 
she  said.  'And  we  hope  that  you  will  have 
good  luck— wherever  you  go.' 

"  *I  wish  the  same  to  you,  Miss  Eva,  and  to 
Miss  Nellie, '  said  I. 

"As  Nellie  came  to  say  good-by  I  saw  that 
her  eyes  were  red.  I  shook  hands  with  both 
the  girls  and  started  off. 

"As  I  looked  back  they  were  both  sitting  on 
the  kitchen  steps.  Nellie  was  holding  the  hand- 
kerchief to  her  eyes  and  sobbing.  Eva  had  her 
arm  around  Nellie,  and  sat  looking  straight  at 
the  side  of  the  hill  and  thinking.  Nellie  was  a 
tender-hearted  girl.  Eva  was  true-hearted,  too, 
and  fine-tempered—like  steel. 

"I  stopped  at  the  old  house  and  took  some 
clothes,  and  started  down  the  tracks  to  Wilton. 
I  walked  the  railroad  tracks  all  afternoon.  As 
my  shadow  got  longer  and  longer  I  began  to 
look  ahead  wherever  the  road  curved  round  a 
hill,  expecting  that  the  next  turn  would  bring 
me  in  sight  of  the  town.  And  after  I  had  done 
that  a  good  many  times  I  began  to  feel  surer 
that  the  next  turn  would  bring  me  to  it,  for  I 
had  walked  so  long  that  I  was  tired  out.  And 
I  was  so  thirsty  that  I  would  have  -given  my 
lunch  for  a  cup  of  water.  The  more  I  was  dis- 


200  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

appointed  coming  round  a  curve,  or  out  of  a 
cut,  the  surer  I  felt  that  the  next  turn  would 
bring  me  in  sight  of  the  end.  But  finally  I 
had  disappointed  myself  so  much  that  I  walked 
along  expecting  to  he  disappointed.  And  I 
said  to  myself:  'It  's  been  so  far  back  since  I 
ought  to  have  got  to  the  town  that  there  's 
no  telling  how  far  it  may  be  yet. '  And  the  far- 
ther I  went  the  less  hope  I  had  of  getting  there 
—I  was  so  tired  out  and  down-hearted. 

'  *  As  it  grew  on  toward  dusk  the  frogs  began 
to  croak  and  the  crickets  to  whir  in  the  low 
places;  and  I  expected  to  be  caught  out  in  the 
night  with  all  the  lonesome  things.  Off  to  the 
right  of  the  tracks  I  saw  a  big  blasted  tree,  with 
nothing  on  its  crooked  black  branches  but  hun- 
dreds of  crows.  And  they  were  all  cawing.  I 
began  to  walk  faster.  I  had  n't  got  used  to 
such  things  yet,  because  it  was  my  first  day 
from  home. 

"  Around  the  next  curve  I  came  across  the 
prettiest  sight  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  There 
was  a  broad  slope  of  plowed  field  that  broke 
off  against  the  red  sky.  And  walking  along 
the  ridge  was  a  string  of  negro  men  and  women 
with  hoes  on  their  shoulders— all  walking  along 
in  a  black  file  against  the  red  sunset.  I  had 
never  seen  anything  that  struck  me  or  stayed 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  201 

in  my  mind  like  that  did.  And  now  I  knew 
that  I  was  getting  to  the  town. 

"Before  long  I  came  to  it,  and  sat  down, 
tired  out,  on  the  depot  platform.  The  station- 
master's  little  girl  brought  me  a  cup  of  water 
from  the  kitchen  where  they  lived,  at  one  end 
of  the  depot. 

"I  sat  there  resting  and  thinking  about  the 
beautiful  sight  I  had  seen,  and  wondering  why 
it  seemed  so  beautiful.  Pretty  soon  it  struck 
me  why  I  was  so  taken  with  it.  It  was  because 
they  were  going  home.  And  I  did  n't  have  any 
home.  And  I  was  tired  and  lonesome  and 
pretty  near  sick— and  I  wondered  how  Bill  was 
feeling.  As  I  looked  back  and  tried  to  imagine 
Eva  and  Nellie  and  Bill,  it  all  seemed  years  ago 
—for  now  everything  was  changed.  It  seemed 
like  a  dream." 

As  the  sound  of  a  bell  came  from  a  distance 
down  the  tracks,  Finerty  arose,  scratching  his 
head.  "I  '11  have  to  tell  that  to  me  wife,"  he 
said.  "An'  now  yez  can  all  shlape— which  ye 
are  already  doin',"  he  added,  looking  about 
on  the  slumbering  vagrants.  Pap  Smith  was 
having  symptoms  of  snoring.  "An'  I  '11  not  be 
wakin'  ye  whin  I  come  again,  Shtoompy;  I 
have  now  all  I  can  hold  at  wanst."  And  Fin- 
erty departed. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


NE  of  the  problems  of  Finerty's 
way  of  life  was  what  to  do  with 
"Sunday  night  off."  Once  a 
week,  when  everybody  had 
gone  to  sleep,  and  he  could  not, 
his  world  was  put  out  of  joint; 
and  it  usually  left  him  sitting  outside  the 
kitchen  door  contemplating  his  day  of  dark- 
ness until  it  became  an  elephant  on  his  hands. 
He  would  smoke  his  solitary  pipe  until  he  had 
philosophically  digested  "th'  way  av  th' 
worruld"  up  to  date;  then  he  would  find 
some  excuse  to  putter  about  the  kitchen,  or 
even  take  a  tour  of  inspection  around  the  out- 
side of  the  house,  with  a  light  in  his  hand.  He 
had  even  been  seen  in  the  small  garden— which 
was  strongly  fortified  against  the  goat— look- 
ing the  posies  over  with  the  bull's-eye  lantern. 
It  was  under  such  circumstances  that  he  one 
night  put  the  elbow  of  stovepipe  on  the  kitchen 
chimney— an  arrangement  which  would  have 

202 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  203 

made  it  draw  excellently  had  the  wind  not 
changed  after  he  had  it  done.  Whenever  Mrs. 
Finerty  started  up  from  her  pillow  at  night 
in  expectation  of  burglars,  her  first  waking 
thought  would  be  the  day  of  the  week.  If  it 
were  Sunday  night  she  would  compose  herself 
with  the  knowledge  that  it  was  Michael  fixing 
something. 

In  this  struggle  that  he  had  with  one  seventh 
of  his  time  was  the  secret  of  Finerty 's  instant 
willingness  to  have  a  "par-r-ty"  whenever  Ag- 
nes suggested  it ;  for,  owing  to  the  peculiar  dis- 
posal of  his  days,  the  affair  would  have  to  be 
on  Sunday  night  if  Finerty  himself  was  to  be 
' '  invited. ' '  A  party  which  had  been  under  con- 
sideration for  a  long  time  always  brought 
about  a  disagreement. 

"I  will  have  no  more  a  Soonda'  night,"  Mrs. 
Finerty  would  declare.  "Th'  lasht  wan  we 
had,  th'  Shmiths  were  talkin'  about  us,  an* 
makin'  thimsilves  out  to  be  b either.  An'  I 
will  not  give  her  th'  satisfaction."  And  there 
the  arrangements  would  always  come  to  a  dead- 
lock. But  on  the  fourth  day  of  the  murder 
story  things  shaped  themselves  favorably,  and 
Mrs.  Finerty  saw  her  way  to  a  compromise. 

On  that  day  Mrs.  Finerty  sat  in  the  kitchen, 
erect  and  prim,  looking  straight  before  her, 


204  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

with  her  hands  clasped— or,  rather,  with  each 
hand  clasping  the  wrist  of  the  other.  She 
was  waiting  for  the  time  to  be  fulfilled  when 
Michael  should  awake.  When,  finally,  he  ap- 
peared at  the  door  of  the  middle  room,  and 
turned  with  his  usual  promptness  to  his  seat 
at  the  table,  she  arose  and  went  to  the  "safe," 
whence  she  produced  an  envelop. 

"Ye  have  a  letther,"  she  said,  laying  it  be- 
fore him.  Then  she  stepped  back  and  remained 
at  a  formal  distance.  Michael  gave  the  en- 
velop skeptic  examination,  front  and  back; 
and  being  convinced  that  it  was  his  own,  he 
left  the  table  and  sat  on  the  step  of  the  middle 
room.  He  gave  a  workmanlike  hitch  to 
each  of  his  sleeves,  and  went  to  work  very 
deliberately,  opening  the  end  of  the  envelop  by 
pinching  and  tearing  with  his  thumb-nail.  Tak- 
ing out  a  slip  of  blue  paper  and  a  white  sheet, 
he  looked  them  over,  upside  down  and  right 
side  up. 

"Humph— th'  divil!"  he  remarked. 

"Why  don't  ye  rade  it  out?"  said  Mrs.  Fin- 
erty. 

Michael  smoothed  out  the  blue  slip  on  his 
thigh;  and  then,  taking  up  the  communication 
proper,  he  "read  it  out."  It  sounded  to  Mrs. 
Finerty  as  follows : 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  205 

MISTHER  MICHAEL  FINERTY. 

Dear  Misther  Finerty:  I  take  me  pin  in  hand  t'  in- 
close th'  inclosed — which  Jawn  w'u'd  have  me  tind 
f  r  him.  He  has  got  th'  vouchers  cashed,  an'  will  be 
expectin'  ye  at  th'  nixt  meetin'  av  th'  precin't.  Wid 
manny  thanks  f'r  yer  neuthral  shtand  in  th'  matter 
av  th'  namination,  he  raymains  yours  thruly, 

MRS.  Ex- ALDERMAN  HOGAN. 

"What  dooes  it  mane,  that  she  sh'u'd  be 
writin'  till  ye?"  asked  Mrs.  Finerty. 

"  'T  is  a  check.  Don 't  ye  know  what  that 
manes'?"  replied  Michael. 

"'T  is  f'r  th'  jury-work!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Finerty.  She  took  the  blue  check  off  his  knee 
and  examined  it.  "Ye  '11  have  t'  be  takin'  it 
t'  th'  bank,  Michael;  for  they  '11  not  be  chang- 
in'  that  at  the  grocery." 

"Don't  be  thryin'  it;  f'r  't  is  no  good  till  I 
have  signed  me  signater  on  it.  I  '11  have  time 
t' do  it  Soonda'." 

She  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen,  hold- 
ing it,  while  Michael  sat  on  the  door-step  re- 
reading the  letter  and  taking  in  its  informa- 
tion. 

"An'  here  I  am  shtandin'  holdin'  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Finerty,  suddenly.  She  hurried  to  the 
"safe,"  and  from  an  upper  corner  she  took 
down  an  earthen  fruit-jar.  Having  carefully 


206  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

removed  the  loose  pieces  of  sealing-wax  from 
the  top  and  laid  them  in  order  on  the  table,  she 
took  off  the  lid  and  deposited  the  check  on  top 
of  the  eleven  dollars  and  forty  cents ;  then  she 
readjusted  the  pieces  of  wax  and  replaced  the 
jar  in  the  "safe." 

"I  'm  thinkin'  if  I  kape  on  makin'  money  as 
aisy  as  that  I  will  do  it.  I  will  sind  her  t'  th' 
college."  And  after  a  period  of  thought  he 
concluded : '  *  Whin  I  get  me  nixt  month 's  pay  I 
will  do  it.  We  will  have  eighty-wan  dollars  an ' 
forty  cints.  An'  what  is  twinty?" 

"'T  will  surprise  th'  Dugans,"  soliloquized 
Mrs.  Finerty. 

Michael  took  his  seat  at  the  table ;  and  when 
his  wife  had  put  his  meal  before  him  she  sat 
down  opposite.  "Agnes  has  been  wantin'  a 
par-r-ty  this  long  time, ' '  she  offered. 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  kavin'  it  Soonda' 
night, ' '  replied  Michael. 

"Ye  '11  not  be  havin'  it  th'  Soonda',  Mi- 
chael." And  having  considered  her  own  ulti- 
matum, she  added:  "Not  excipt  't  is  afther 
twelve  o'clock.  There  '11  not  be  wan  shtep 
befure  that." 

1 '  Sure  't  is  airly  enough.  I  'm  not  all  awake 
befure  twelve  P.M.,"  replied  Finerty,  sorting 
his  potatoes  over  philosophically.  "And  if 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  207 

anny  should  get  here  a  bit  airlier— which  they 
will— we  can  shpind  th'  time  tellin'  shtories. 
'T  will  be  no  harm  in  that." 

"And,"  added  Mrs.  Finerty,  emphasizing 
every  word,  "if  I  hear  wan  worrud  av  Mrs. 
Shmith  sayin'  we  had  dancin'  on  Soonda',  I 
will  in-form  her  av  her  ig-nor-ance.  I  '11  have 
Agnes  write  invitations  th'  morrow." 

"We  '11  have  a  dancin '-match,  an'  get  ould 
Jerry  t'  fiddle.  'T  will  do  me  good  t'  show 
young  Barney  his  aquils.  I  '11  back  th'  rid- 
headed  wan  against  him. ' ' 

"What— th'  thramp!"  said  Mrs.  Finerty. 
"W'u'd  ye  have  him  come  t'  a  par-r-tyf  " 

"He  '11  not  come  to  it— but  only  for  to  be 
enthertainin'  th'  rest.  An'  ye  can  hand  him 
a  bite  in  the  kitchen."  But  this  was  not  to  be 
encompassed  until  much  argument  had  accus- 
tomed her  to  the  idea. 

And  Dennis,  who  was  away  on  his  usual 
quest  of  a  criminal,  would  be  back  at  the  station 
in  time  to  be  invited.  He  would  be  informed 
of  Stumpy 's  knowledge  of  the  five-hundred- 
dollar  murderer.  There  was  no  telling  what 
might  happen. 

And  now  the  story— which  had  escaped  her 
in  the  excitement  caused  by  the  check— being 
thus  brought  to  Mrs.  Finerty 's  mind,  she  de- 


208  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

manded  to  know  the  end  of  it.  When  Michael 
had  recounted  last  night's  developments  of  the 
tale,  she  insisted  that  he  should  keep  on  even 
after  he  declared  that  he  knew  no  more. 

* '  'T  is  that  comes  from  not  guardin '  yer  tem- 
per, Michael.  An'  d'  ye  know,"  she  said  re- 
flectively, "if  't  was  only  a  shtory,  an '  it  could 
be  med  up  that  th'  blackshmith  did  n't  do  it, 
afther  all,  't  is  th'  way  I  w'u'd  want  it  to  be. 
But  't  is  only  in  shtories  that  it  can  be.  An* 
't  is  too  late  now;  't  w'u'd  all  have  to  be  dif- 
ferent. It  sh'u'd  be  a  warnin'  t'  anny  man.'* 

She  put  the  green-plaid  shawl  over  her  head, 
and  accompanied  him  to  work,  turning  over 
plans  for  the  party.  As  Michael  stepped  -over 
to  the  chutes  she  looked  into  the  sand-house, 
and  seeing  Stumpy,  she  was  on  the  point  of 
ordering  him  to  tell  her  the  rest.  But  at  that 
moment  Rochester  Red  appeared,  and  she  has- 
tily departed. 

Finerty  came  into  the  sand-house  earlier  that 
night,  accompanied  by  his  faithful  dinner-pail. 
He  sat  down  to  eat  his  meal  in  the  very  eyes 
of  the  tramps,  for  he  wanted  to  get  the  story 
started  early  and  bring  it  to  a  possible  end. 
He  paused  to  start  it  before  he  bit  his  sandwich. 

''An'  what  did  ye  do  whin  ye  wint  away 
from  that  town?" 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  209 

"Well,"  said  Stumpy,  "Bill  wandered 
around  the  Territory  a  while;  but  he  did  n't 
like  the  country,  so  he—  " 

"How  do  ye  know  what  he  did,  whin  ye 
was  n't  with  him?"  interrogated  Finerty. 

"Why,  I  heard  about  it  afterward;  if  it 
was  n't  for  that  I  would  n't  know  any  more 
about  him.  I  'm  telling  things  just  as  they  hap- 
pened—I 'm  telling  it  straight.  I  can't  go 
ahead  and  then  tell  it  backwards. ' ' 

"No;  don't  be  tellin'  it  to  me  backwards," 
said  Finerty.  "I  see  how  't  is." 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 

S  I  was  saying,"  continued 
Stumpy,  l '  after  he  had  been  in 
the  Territory  a  while  he  did  n  't 
like  it  very  well,  and  he  kept 
going  from  place  to  place  on 
Lady,  always  riding  south. 
One  Sunday  morning  he  arrived  at  a  little  town 
in  the  middle  of  Texas.  There  did  n't  seem  to 
be  anything  but  horses  in  the  town— and  not 
many  of  them.  There  were  a  lot  of  buggies  and 
saddle-horses  in  front  of  a  little  white  church, 
and  there  was  a  row  of  cow-ponies  along  the 
hitching-rack  at  the  post-office,  which  was  next 
to  a  saloon.  In  a  place  like  that  a  cow-boy  can 
always  tell  who  's  in  town  by  looking  at  the 
hitching-rack  the  same  as  a  city  directory. 
Bill  stopped  Lady  and  sat  looking  them  over, 
thinking  to  himself  that  he  would  n't  trade 
Lady  for  the  whole  outfit.  There  was  a  sleepy 
sort  of  a  short-coupled  bay,  and  a  red-and- 
white  pinto,  and  a  stocky  buckskin,  and  a 
210 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  211 

little  black  stallion.  Bill  tied  Lady  at  the  end 
of  the  rack  next  to  the  buckskin;  but  just  as 
he  turned  away  the  buckskin  grunted  and  laid 
his  ears  back  ugly,  as  if  Lady  had  no  business 
there.  At  that  Lady  gave  a  grunt  herself,  and 
shot  out  one  of  her  legs,  giving  the  buckskin 
a  jolt  on  the  flank.  But  as  Lady  was  tied  too 
near  to  get  full  swing,  she  only  landed  with  the 
side  of  her  leg,  not  doing  any  great  damage. 
Bill  saw  that  it  would  n't  do  to  take  chances, 
so  he  untied  her  again. 

"  'Come  on,  Lady,'  says  Bill;  'you  and  me 
will  go  up  among  the  religious  horses.'  There 
was  a  choir  singing  in  the  church,  so  Bill  tied 
her  next  to  a  Roman-nose,  settled-down  sort  of 
a  buggy-horse,  and  went  in  and  took  a  back  seat 
in  the  church  to  hear  the  singing.  Bill  liked 
that  singing  better  than  any  he  had  ever  heard ; 
it  was  done  by  boys  all  in  white  gowns.  So  he 
sat  listening  to  the  sermon.  After  a  while  the 
boys  all  marched  away,  singing,  through  a 
door  back  of  the  pulpit,  with  their  voices  dying 
away  in  the  distance  where  you  could  n't 
see  them,  and  sounding  like  angels.  Bill  sat 
till  they  had  gone  so  far  he  could  n  't  hear  them 
at  all.  And  when  it  was  done,  almost  every 
one  had  left  the  church  but  Bill,  and  was  going 
away  in  carriages  and  on  horseback.  He  got 


212  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

on  Lady  and  went  down  to  the  post-office  again. 
This  time  he  tried  Lady  at  the  other  end  of 
the  rack,  and  when  he  saw  that  she  did  n  't  fight 
with  the  stallion  he  went  into  the  saloon— for 
there  was  n't  any  place  else  to  go. 

"In  the  saloon  he  got  to  talking  with  a  stock- 
man who  was  looking  to  hire  a  sheep-herder. 

"  'I  'm  looking  for  somebody  that  won't  go 
mooning  around  when  he  is  left  alone  a  month 
or  two,  and  that  won't  get  so  lazy  that  when 
a  norther  comes  he  can't  wake  up  and  hustle 
them  back  and  hold  them  together;  I  want 
somebody  that  's  got  a  little  action  in  him,  but 
don't  need  something  happening  all  the  time 
without  going  crazy.  The  last  one  I  had  was 
that  kind,  and  now  he  is  up  in  the  crazy-pen 
at  the  county  seat.  It  's  the  second  time  I  have 
had  that  kind  of  luck.  Suppose  you  take  the 
job  and  try  it  a  while.  You  don't  look  like 
the  soft  kind.  Try  it,  if  you  ain't  working.' 

"  ' Where  is  it!1  asked  Bill. 

"  'About  twenty  miles  out  here.  I  '11  send 
you  out  good  chuck  every  month,  and  make 
it  pleasant.  It  's  a  small  bunch,  so  that  you 
will  have  to  take  a  shack  alone.  But  you  're 
sure  to  see  a  range-rider  every  couple  of  weeks, 
anyway— for  there  's  only  nineteen  thousand 
acres,  wire-fenced  for  cattle.  You  '11  see  a  steer 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  213 

once  in  a  while,  anyway,  for  a  change.  And, 
besides  that,  the  scab  's  on  the  range  now,  and 
you  will  have  to  do  some  dipping— so  that  will 
give  you  a  change  and  keep  you  busy  now  and 
then.  It  ain't  as  bad  as  some  jobs.' 

"Bill  stood  thinking  it  over. 

11  'Oh,  Maggie,'  said  the  stockman,  'come 
here.'  A  collie  that  was  lying  back  in  a  dark 
corner  got  up  and  came  to  him.  She  was  a 
beautiful  dog,  all  curves  and  neat,  thick  hair. 
'Shake  hands  with  the  gentleman,  Maggie,' 
said  the  stockman.  She  raised  her  foot  to  Bill, 
and  he  gave  it  a  shake,  for  he  had  a  great  eye 
for  a  dog— 'most  any  kind  of  a  dog.  'I  '11  let 
you  take  her, '  said  the  stockman.  '  The  fellow 
that  's  out  there  temporary  has  a  dog  of  his 
own.  Maggie  's  a  good  partner.  Look  at  the 
faith  in  her, '  said  the  stockman,  laying  his  hand 
on  her  forehead  while  she  looked  up  with  her 
brown  eyes  in  a  way  that  Bill  declared  he  could 
see  she  knew  what  he  was  saying.  'If  there  's 
much  trouble,  that  dog  '11  show  you  a  trick  or 
two.  She  knows  a  few,'  said  the  stockman. 
'  Have  a  drink  on  me. ' 

"When  Bill  had  thought  it  over,  the  idea 
struck  him  all  of  a  heap.  Month  after  mdnth  he 
had  been  going  from  one  place  to  another,  only 
to  move  along  when  he  got  there,  for  fear  that 


214  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

it  was  the  place  he  might  be  caught  in.  It 
had  all  been  doubt  and  uncertainty  day  after 
day,  with  no  settlement  of  it  when  he  went  to 
bed  or  when  he  got  up.  There  was  no  looking 
ahead  with  any  satisfaction,  but  just  wander- 
ing around ;  and  as  for  the  monotony  of  sheep- 
herding,  he  knew  nothing  could  be  more  mo- 
notonous than  what  he  was  doing.  And  as 
for  being  away  from  people,  he  was  already 
cut  off  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  was 
only  an  actor  and  a  somebody  else.  And  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  there  were  worse  things 
than  going  and  living  with  animals— cows  and 
sheep  and  Lady  and  Maggie.  And  he  saw  that 
being  out  there,  like  the  only  person  in  the 
world,  there  would  be  no  one  to  bother  him 
if  he  had  killed  a  dozen  men.  When  Bill 
thought  of  it  he  began  to  feel  rested  already, 
with  the  idea  of  being  out  where  there  would 
be  no  object  in  staying  anywhere  but  just  there, 
and  knowing  that  it  was  certain  to  be  the  same 
as  long  as  he  did  stay  there.  It  was  like  taking 
a  vacation  from  being  a  murderer.  And  after 
a  while  maybe  the  world  would  forget  about 
him.  It  began  to  rest  him  right  on  the  spot- 
like  when  your  nerves  suddenly  let  down  with 
a  jerk  and  show  you  how  they  have  been  strung 
up.  I  say  it  struck  Bill  of  a  heap— and  he  took 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  215 

the  job.  They  had  a  few  more  drinks  and  went 
away  together  on  horseback.  And  before  they 
went  the  man  had  pointed  Bill  out  to  Maggie 
and  explained,  and  she  was  frisking  round  him 
like  she  understood. 

"Next  morning  Bill  was  riding  out  to  the 
ranch  on  Lady,  behind  a  wagon  that  was  loaded 
with  a  hogshead  sawed  in  two,  some  barrels  of 
petroleum,  and  food  supplies  for  six  weeks- 
hog  and  hominy  and  white  flour  and  molasses 
and  pepper-sauce.  Bill  did  n't  want  the 
pepper-sauce,  but  the  man  made  him  take  it. 
1  Texas  sheep-herders  always  get  to  wanting 
pepper-sauce,  and  you  will,  too,'  he  said. 
And  Maggie  sat  in  the  tail  of  the  wagon  watch- 
ing him  come  along.  About  that  time  some  one 
had  got  up  the  idea  of  dipping  the  sheep  in 
petroleum  instead  of  the  tobacco  cure.  Bill's 
boss  had  told  him  about  it,  asking  him  if  he 
minded  trying  the  oil.  And  Bill  said  that  he 
was  used  to  getting  his  hands  on  oily  machin- 
ery, and  he  guessed  he  would  rather  use  it  than 
to  be  messing  round  in  a  vat  of  tobacco  juice ; 
so  it  was  satisfactory  to  both  of  them.  When 
they  got  out  to  the  place  the  man  on  the  wagon 
found  that  the  herder  had  already  moved  the 
sheep  to  the  new  shack  and  corral  away  from 
the  infected  pasture.  Everything  was  ready, 


216  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

so  that  when  they  were  dipped  they  could  be 
turned  out  on  clean  grass.  And  all  the  sheep 
were  baaing  in  the  pen;  and  they  all  turned 
and  stared  at  Bill  with  a  thousand  eyes,  the 
way  sheep  do.  The  other  herder  was  already 
dipping  some  and  sending  them,  dripping  with 
tobacco  juice,  up  the  stile  and  over  the  rails  of 
the  corral. 

' '  The  fellow  that  was  there  was  to  stay  a  con- 
pie  of  days  and  help  Bill  get  the  flock  in  shape 
—so  the  wagon  went  away  and  left  the  two  of 
them.  The  fellow's  name  was  Jonas,  and  he 
was  one  of  the  sociable  kind  that  Bill  took  a 
shine  to. 

"  'Well,  partner,'  said  he,  'have  you  decided 
to  turn  Baptis '  ?  How  are  you  on  church,  any- 
way,—ever  go  to  any?' 

"  'Sometimes,'  said  Bill.  'I  dropped  into 
that  white  church  in  town.' 

"  'Well,  that  won't  do- that  's  Episcopal. 
Out  here  we  're  dead  set  on  regeneration  by  im- 
mersion. This  oil  dip  ain't  accordin'  to  my  re- 
ligion that  I  Ve  been  used  to.  But  I  ain't  so 
narrow  but  what  I  can  try  it.  The  perfessors 
say  it  's  a  cure.'  He  kicked  the  fire  out  from 
under  his  tobacco-caldron  and  bailed  the  dip 
out  into  the  hogshead.  Then  he  went  at  empty- 
ing his  dipping-tank.  Bill  got  a  pail  and 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  217 

helped  him  take  the  dip  out  and  put  the  petro- 
leum in.  Then  they  went  at  the  flock.  And  it 
was  n  't  long  till  Bill  found  out  he  did  n  't  like 
a  sheep,  and  that  they  were  n't  his  style.  He 
never  did  like  any  sort  of  a  martyr  person  that 
was  always  swallowing  down  their  sufferings 
and  looking  sorry  and  good  about  other  peo- 
ple 's  badness  to  them.  He  'd  rather  have  them 
fight  than  complain,— and  a  sheep  is  just  the 
other  way  around.  He  lifted  up  a  ewe  to  souse 
her  in  the  dip,  and  she  let  out  a  trembling  bawl 
that  made  Bill  feel  cruel.  And  when  he  put 
her  in,  she  rolled  up  her  eyeballs  and  shut  her 
bleat  off,  as  if  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
stand  it  and  let  him  abuse  her  more,  and  she 
would  give  right  up  to  it  and  look  to  heaven  for 
support.  Bill  picked  up  another  and  another, 
and  they  did  the  same;  and  somehow  their 
eyes  chastised  him  till  it  made  him  mad.  And 
he  felt  like  giving  them  an  extra  souse— seeing 
they  were  so  good  at  putting  up  with  suffering. 

"  'That  's  the  way  to  do  it!'  said  Jonas,  as 
Bill  kept  sending  them  over  the  stile.  'The 
clean  to  the  right,  and  the  unclean  to  the  left— 
the  righteous  and  the  unrighteous.' 

"  'You  talk  as  if  you  was  used  to  being  God/ 
remarked  Bill. 

"  'Well,  I  have  been— considerable.     And 


218  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

by  the  time  you  've  been  out  here  long  enough, 
you  '11  feel  that  way,  too;  for  you  won't  see 
anything  like  yourself.  I  ain't  following  the 
flock  now.  But  I  Ve  had  the  universe  on  my 
hands  in  my  day— and  all  that  was  contained 
therein.  It  's  a  big  responsibility.  How  do 
you  like  sheep,  take  'em  one  at  a  time  ? ' 

"  'I  can't  say  that  I  exactly  take  to  them,' 
said  Bill.  'They  ain't  an  animal  that  I  would 
sit  up  nights  to  talk  to. ' 

"  'Yes,'  said  Jonas;  'there  ain't  much  in 
their  eyes,  except  the  stony  stare.  And  they 
can't  wag  their  tail  like  a  dog.  Many  a  time 
I  've  been  glad  that  there  was  an  animal 
that  could  talk  with  his  tail.  They  're  an  un- 
manly beast  that  ain't  of  this  world  at  all.  And 
if  they  see  a  good  chance  to  die  they  '11  lay  right 
down  and  wait  for  kingdom  come.  They  're 
a  mackerel-eyed  martyr  from  their  Hebrew 
noses  to  their  helpless  tail. ' 

"  'You  don't  like  them,  either?'  said  Bill. 

"  'Not  one  at  a  time— and  still  less  in  a 
bunch.  They  're  all  right,  though,  for  a  piece 
of  the  landscape  on  a  sunny  day.  They  do  say 
that  they  're  the  beast  that  stands  for  the  hu- 
man race  in  the  Scriptures,'  said  Jonas,  who 
was  a  great  hand  to  talk  religion.  'And  I  '11 
be  dinged  if  I  hain't  seen  Christians  just  like 
them.' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  219 

"With  that,  he  picked  up  a  ram  and  plunged 
him  in  the  dip,  holding  him  by  a  horn.  '  It  does 
seem,'  he  went  on,  'that  when  the  Almighty 
Creator  arranged  that  man  must  get  bread  by 
the  sweat  of  his  brow,  he  also  fixed  it  up  so 
that  he  would  have  to  get  clothes  at  the  risk  of 
his  intellect.  And  many  a  one  's  lost  hisn  sit- 
ting out  watching  the  clothes  grow  for  people. 
The  last  one  here  got  so  bad  he  was  writing 
poetry  all  over  the  shack. ' 

"  'If  they  ever  took  me  up  for  crazy,'  said 
Bill,  'I  'd  make  them  prove  it.  I  saw  a  trial 
in  a  town  up  here,  and  I  thought  to  myself  that 
if  it  was  me  I  'd  make  the  jurors  prove  that 
they  were  sane.  I  think  they  'd  have  a  hard 
time  doing  it.' 

"  'It  is  a  sort  of  majority  vote,  and  nothing 
else,'  said  Jonas.  'It  's  a  kind  of  circumstan- 
tial evidence.' 

"  'Circumstantial  evidence!'  said  Bill. 
'What  do  you  think  of  that?' 

"  'Say,  partner,'  said  Jonas,  'it  makes  me 
die  laughing.  Last  spring  I  was  out  here  at 
lambing-time,  running  them  a  few  days  alone 
when  the  other  one  mislaid  his  mind.  The 
preacher's  mother,  from  up  North,  came  out 
in  a  carriage  to  see  what  it  was  like.  Just  when 
they  drove  up  I  was  drying  off  a  new-born 
with  the  back  of  a  butcher  knife— starting 


220  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

him  out  comfortable  and  cozy,  same  as  always. 
Just  when  she  was  stepping  out  of  the  car- 
riage she  seen  me,  and  threw  up  both  her  hands 
and  yelled,  "Oh!"  and  fainted  back  so  that 
they  had  to  catch  her. 

' '  '  She  said  afterward  that  she  thought  I  was 
killing  the  dear  little  lamb.  And,  somehow, 
she  could  n't  get  it  out  of  her  head  that  I  was 
a  brute,  anyway.  That  's  circumstantial  evi- 
dence for  ye,  hey?' 

"Bill  and  the  herder  talked  and  dipped,  and 
by  night  they  had  the  flock  all  run  through  the 
vat.  And  the  next  morning  the  herder  ate 
breakfast  and  got  ready  to  leave. 

"  'So  you  won't  herd— if  you  can  help  it,' 
said  Bill,  as  he  was  going  away. 

"  'Not  me— thank  you,'  said  Jonas.  'Al- 
though I  'm  a  natural  at  it.  You  don 't  catch  me 
shippin'  in  a  shack  for  the  land  of  Nowhere. 
When  I  'm  marooned  I  '11  take  it  on  the  water 
—where  I  can  see  the  hills  heave  up  and  down, 
anyway.  I  'm  a  Baptist.  So  long,  partner- 
don 't  fall  out  with  yerself.' 

"'Good-by,'  said  Bill. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


ILL  herded  sheep  for  four 
weeks,  and  then  a  man  came 
out  and  brought  him  some 
more  chuck,  saying,  'How-do!' 
and  'How  are  you  getting 
along?'  and  'Good-by.'  Bill 
kept  on  herding  sheep  again,  and  in  four 
weeks  more  the  man  came  out  and  brought 
him  some  chuck  and  said,  *  Hello ! '  And  when 
he  had  said  'Good-by'  Bill  started  to  herding 
sheep  and  looking  ahead  to  when  the  man 
would  come  out  again.  The  man  brought  him 
his  wages,  too;  and  every  few  days,  when 
Bill  was  lonesome,  he  would  look  the  money 
over,  and  think  how  useless  it  was— for  out 
there  it  was  n't  good  to  spend  or  to  give 
away,  or  to  send  to  the  heathen.  Bill  said 
afterward— and  I  don't  know  how  true  it  is, 
but  he  ought  to  know  because  he  took  enough 
lessons  in  it— that  a  person  can't  change  his 
own  mind.  He  says  they  only  think  they  can, 
221 


222  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

and  that  when  they  want  it  changed  they  have 
to  look  at  something  different  or  go  some- 
where or  see  another  person,  and  it  is  that  that 
changes  it.  And  he  said  that  when  a  person 
got  the  idea  that  the  mind  can  change  itself, 
and  that  he  can  outflank  his  own  wits,  it  's  be- 
cause he  was  never  put  in  a  place  where  he 
could  really  try  it. 

"One  morning,  when  he  was  getting  break- 
fast on  the  fire-hole,  he  noticed  that  the  handle 
of  the  coffee-pot  was  loose.  He  did  n't  have 
anything  to  fix  it  with,  so  he  knocked  it  off  en- 
tirely, for  he  would  rather  see  no  handle  at  all 
than  a  loose  one.  That  reminded  him  of  the 
sailors ' '  monkey, '  that  did  n  't  have  any  handle 
to  it,  and  made  him  think  of  TiflSn.  After  that, 
as  sure  as  he  would  start  breakfast  the  coffee- 
pot would  remind  him  of  Tiffin  and  the  bloody 
shirt  they  made  him  look  at  when  they  arrested 
him.  And  he  would  have  Tiffin  for  breakfast. 

"Another  day  some  little  thing  would  re- 
mind him  of  something  else,  and  then  it  would 
keep  up.  The  days  were  all  alike ;  and  so,  after 
a  while,  he  would  know  just  what  the  next  day 
would  be  like  and  all  that  it  would  remind  him 
of  beforehand.  The  days  got  to  be  cut  and 
dried,  and  time  was  a  sort  of  a  machine  turn- 
ing them  all  out  alike.  In  the  morning,  when 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  223 

he  grazed  the  sheep  in  a  bunch  on  the  plain, 
the  clouds  would  be  grazing  in  bunches  on  the 
sky.  Then  at  noon  the  clouds  would  be  higher 
and  laying  along  in  streaks,  as  if  a  whitewash- 
brush  had  been  wiped  on  the  sky— the  lines  of 
cloud  all  in  rank  and  file.  And  about  the  time 
they  did  that  the  sheep  would  stop  for  noon 
and  string  along  in  broken  files,  as  each  sheep 
would  stand  with  his  head  drooping  in  the 
shadow  of  a  sheep  ahead— and  another  sheep 
standing  in  his.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the 
sheep  and  the  clouds  were  only  imitations  of 
each  other,  and  there  wasn't  any  variety  at 
all.  He  got  tired  of  being  out  always  in  the 
middle  of  things— as  if  he  was  the  only  man 
on  earth  stuck  out  there  in  the  dead  center  of 
it  all.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  was  sentenced 
to  walk  and  walk  toward  the  edge  of  the  hori- 
zon and  never  get  any  nearer  to  it.  So  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  stand  out  like  a  pin  on  a 
sun-dial  until  his  shadow  got  short  enough  be- 
fore him  to  turn  round  and  graze  back.  And 
all  afternoon  he  would  follow  his  shadow  home 
again.  There  wasn't  any  sound  in  the  world 
but  bleating  and  baaing  and  bawling  that 
sounded  like  complaint  and  melancholy— and 
never  a  word  that  meant  anything.  He  got  so 
that  he  hated  the  sound  of  them.  Every  day 


224  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

was  alike,  with  the  sky  above  and  the  plain  be- 
neath; and  after  a  while  they  penned  him  in 
and  at  the  same  time  would  n't  have  anything 
to  do  with  him.  Sometimes  he  thought  he 
would  rather  be  back  in  the  cell  again,  where 
he  could  at  least  touch  the  low  ceiling  and  feel 
it  and  be  friendly  with  it.  And  the  birds  that 
flew  in  the  sky— but  would  never  come  to  him— 
was  n't  half  as  good  as  a  spider  he  knew  that 
would  drop  down  in  his  cell  and  amuse  him. 
The  scenery  prisoned  him  in  the  same,  even  if 
it  was  bigger— for  it  was  only  around  him. 
And  at  night,  when  the  darkness  took  it  all 
away,  the  stars  would  come  out  like  a  big  exam- 
ple on  a  black  slate.  They  would  n't  let  his 
mind  alone,  and  at  the  same  time  they  would  n't 
have  anything  to  do  with  him.  And  that  was 
the  way  it  went,  day  after  day  and  night  after 
night.  And  all  through  it  at  regular  times  was 
Tiffin  and  the  bloody  shirt,  till  he  could  n't  think 
of  anything  else.  The  fellow  that  was  there 
before  him  had  an  old  physical  geography,  and 
Bill  found  it  under  the  bunk.  He  carried  it 
out  herding  with  him  to  change  his  mind.  He 
studied  about  clouds,  and  he  found  that  in  the 
morning  the  sheep  were  scattered  in  bunches 
like  certain  kinds  of  cloud,  and  at  noon  they 
were  strung  along  like  others.  And  it  was  n  't 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  225 

long  till  the  book  was  playing  the  same  trick  on 
him  as  everything  else.  But  he  carried  it  along 
and  looked  for  new  places  in  it. 

"There  were  a  good  many  cattle  on  the 
range,  but  they  were  scattered  out  few  and  far 
between.  One  day  Bill  saved  a  cow  that  was 
bogged  in  a  watering-hole.  In  that  country 
the  black  soil  is  deep  as  any  post-hole,  and 
tough  and  clinging.  It  was  the  kind  that  the 
old  farmer  in  Upton  had  told  Bill  about;  it 
would  n't  even  slide  from  the  polished  slant 
of  a  plow,  but  packed  on  it  like  gum  so  that  a 
plowman  would  have  to  stop  and  cut  it  off 
with  the  scraper.  And  it  would  pack  up  on 
wagon-wheels  till  the  tires  and  felloes  were 
all  swollen  up  with  it.  Where  it  is  trampled 
at  watering-holes  the  cattle  sink  deep;  and  if 
they  stand  too  long,  with  their  small  hoofs  and 
great  weight,  it  sometimes  gets  a  hold  on  them 
that  tests  their  strength.  Then  if  they  lose 
their  footing  and  fall  down  it  has  them  trapped. 

"After  Bill  saved  the  cow  he  felt  good  all 
day,  walking  along  and  thinking  how  he  had 
saved  a  life.  Besides  that,  it  was  a  change  for 
him,  and  gave  him  something  to  do;  so  after 
that  he  managed  to  herd  the  sheep  past  a  water- 
ing-hole whenever  he  could  and  save  a  cow 
and  do  a  good  turn  for  somebody.  If  it  had  n't 


226  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

been  for  that  and  for  talking  to  Maggie  and  for 
having  the  company  of  Lady,  Bill  could  n't 
have  stood  it,  as  much  as  he  wanted  to  stay 
there.  He  used  to  sink  in  pretty  deep  him- 
self sometimes,  but  there  wasn't  any  danger 
in  that;  it  does  n't  get  the  best  of  a  man  as 
it  does  with  a  cow.  For  some  weeks  there 
came  a  drought  and  some  of  the  watering- 
holes  that  were  too  far  from  their  spring  be- 
came bogs.  The  little  stream  that  fed  them  was 
drunk  by  the  sun  and  licked  up  by  the  breezes 
from  the  Gulf.  But  the  cattle  that  were  used 
to  watering  there  would  keep  coming  as  long 
as  there  was  a  little  seepage  in  the  middle,  for 
they  have  their  regular  habits  and  grazing- 
grounds.  In  that  way  the  shallow  watering- 
holes  got  to  be  nothing  more  than  hoof-marked 
muck. 

' '  One  morning  Bill  got  out  of  his  bunk  feel- 
ing down-hearted  and  guilty.  When  he  had 
made  the  coffee,  thinking  of  Tiffin  and  the 
bloody  shirt,  and  had  made  some  hot  bread  and 
eaten  it,  he  went  around  to  the  corral  to  let  the 
sheep  out  for  the  day.  They  all  turned  their 
faces  to  him,  the  same  as  always,  and  looked  at 
him  with  a  thousand  eyes,  staring  at  him  as  if 
he  was  a  wonderful  being,  expected  to  do  won- 
derful things.  He  leaned  on  the  rail  of  the 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  227 

corral  and  looked  into  all  their  inhuman  eyes, 
wondering  what  the  meaning  of  them  could  be. 
They  always  looked  at  him  like  strangers,  and 
they  were  getting  to  be  greater  strangers  the 
longer  he  knew  them.  A  ram  stamped  his  foot 
as  if  he  was  impatient  with  Bill,  and  stared  at 
him  like  one  of  the  just  and  righteous ;  and  then 
it  seemed  to  Bill  that  all  of  them  were  waiting 
for  him  to  speak  and  say,  'Guilty'  or  'Not 
guilty.'  He  let  down  the  bars  and  stood  till 
they  had  all  filed  out.  Then  he  went  out  for 
the  day  again,  thinking  that  that  day  he  would 
have  to  find  a  cow  to  save. 

"Toward  noon  he  came  across  a  cream-col- 
ored heifer  that  was  stuck  in  one  of  the  small 
holes.  It  was  a  beautiful  heifer  with  big  gentle 
eyes ;  although  the  fact  was  that  before  she  got 
into  that  hole  she  would  have  fought  a  horse 
and  a  cow-boy  if  they  got  her  into  the  notion. 
Bill  looked  her  over  and  he  made  up  his  mind, 
from  her  depth  and  condition,  that  there  was 
enough  strength  in  her  to  pull  out  if  he  put 
her  in  the  way  of  getting  up.  He  went  in  and 
roused  her  to  make  an  effort,  but  she  only 
strained  weakly,  without  making  any  headway 
at  rising.  The  next  time  Bill  helped  her  she 
got  part  way  up,  but  fell  back  again.  He  had 
a  notion  to  leave  her  till  the  next  day,  and  then, 


228  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

if  she  was  still  living,  come  to  help  her  with 
Lady  and  a  rope.  But  he  wanted  to  get  her 
out.  He  had  set  a  good  many  free  just  with 
his  own  strength,  and  he  always  claimed  that 
lifting  was  science  as  much  as  strength.  He 
had  plenty  of  both,  and  the  more  he  failed  the 
more  determined  he  was.  At  each  lift  he  went 
deeper  into  the  muck,  till  finally  it  filled  his 
shoes  and  came  half-way  to  his  knees;  but  he 
didn't  mind  that,  for  it  was  nothing  serious. 
He  pulled  his  feet  out  and  stood  a  while  to  give 
himself  and  the  cow  a  rest,  and  then  he  went 
at  it  with  one  big  effort.  He  got  her  to  strug- 
gling, and  pretty  soon  she  was  coming  up.  He 
gathered  all  his  power  in  his  back  and  Bill  and 
the  heifer  made  the  big  effort  shoulder  to 
shoulder. 

"He  got  her  to  her  feet,  leaning  against  her 
to  steady  her.  But  just  as  she  got  up  she  made 
a  lunge  forward;  and  not  getting  her  legs 
out,  she  lost  her  balance  and  fell  over  again  on 
top  of  Bill.  And  there  he  was,  sitting  with 
the  cow  across  his  lap  and  his  bent  legs  buried 
to  the  knees  by  her  weight. 

"It  was  n't  a  minute  before  he  saw  he 
could  n  't  get  out  of  there  with  his  own  strength. 
The  worst  of  his  fix  was  n't  that  his  legs  were 
so  deep,  or  that  the  weight  of  a  cow  was  on 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  229 

them— for  he  could  have  lifted  a  cow  with  the 
right  way  of  going  at  it.  But  he  was  wedged 
down  in  such  a  way  that  he  could  get  no  pur- 
chase. He  made  a  few  strong  efforts,  but 
he  could  feel  that  all  the  power  he  put  into 
his  legs  had  n't  any  leverage.  And  when  he 
found  that  he  could  n't  even  make  a  start  at 
dislodging  them,  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  not  waste  his  strength  in  struggling— 
the  way  a  cow  does.  He  went  to  work  to  dig 
himself  loose  with  his  hands,  thinking  that  if 
he  could  only  sink  down  till  his  legs  were 
straighter  he  would  have  an  advantage.  The 
sticky,  tough  dirt  clung  to  his  hands  and 
packed  on  till  each  finger  was  big  and  heavy. 
It  seemed  that  the  dirt  was  protecting  itself 
against  him,  and  fighting  to  hold  him.  When 
he  got  a  little  gutter  dug  around  him,  the  wa- 
ter oozed  into  it.  Then  his  big,  blunt  fingers 
would  only  slip  and  slide,  and  he  could  n  't  dig 
at  all.  He  would  wipe  them  off  on  the  cow 
and  try  again,  and  it  would  be  the  same.  The 
mud  would  fill  in,  and  he  could  only  make  a 
puddle. 

"Maggie  sat  on  the  bank,  looking  at  him. 
Sometimes  she  seemed  to  understand  and  real- 
ize the  fix  he  was  in,  for  she  would  whine  and 
run  about  the  black  hole.  Then  she  would  sit 


230  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

down  and  look  at  him  as  if  she  would  like  to 
speak.  This  bothered  him,  and  he  sent  her  out 
on  errands  to  the  sheep.  It  seemed  strange  to 
Bill  to  be  exercising  his  power  on  the  sheep 
that  way,  when  he  could  n  't  help  himself.  But 
it  gave  him  something  to  do,  and  he  sent  her 
out  several  times. 

"He  could  only  sit  there  and  look  about  on 
the  scenery  he  was  tired  of,  and  keep  on  wait- 
ing—which he  was  even  more  tired  of.  He 
hoped  he  would  get  out  for  an  hour,  and  then 
he  hoped  another  hour— and  he  got  tired  of 
even  hoping.  That  afternoon  he  did  not  get 
hungry.  Anyway,  his  lunch  was  lying  out  of 
reach,  wrapped  in  the  slicker  where  he  had  laid 
it  down  at  the  edge  of  the  watering-hole.  He 
found  there  was  a  sort  of  comfort  in  feeling 
that  the  cow  was  in  the  same  fix  he  was ;  and 
somehow  it  gave  him  a  friendly  feeling  toward 
the  cow.  She  lay  there  quiet,  and  Bill  sat  look- 
ing into  her  eyes  and  hardly  knowing  what 
he  thought,  but  just  waiting  and  feeling  the 
live,  warm  cow.  He  wondered  how  long  it 
would  be  before  she  would  die  and  he  would 
lose  her.  He  did  n't  hope  and  he  did  n't  feel 
desperate,  but  just  sat  there  like  a  convict.  He 
had  been  through  a  good  deal,  and  now  it  came 
over  him  that  if  this  was  the  kind  of  a  world 
it  was,  he  did  n 't  much  care. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  231 

' '  Late  in  the  afternoon  he  began  to  feel  hun- 
gry. Near  him  was  a  small  bone.  With  this 
he  managed  to  scrape  toward  him  a  longer  bone 
from  the  skeleton  of  a  cow  that  had  been 
bogged  there  the  season  before.  With  this  bone 
he  could  barely  touch  his  dinner.  By  care- 
ful working  he  upset  the  package  so  that  it 
tumbled  a  few  inches  nearer.  He  shoved  it 
with  the  bone,  one  side  and  then  another,  un- 
til he  could  reach  it  with  his  fingers.  After 
dinner  he  felt  stronger  and  he  tried  to  rouse 
the  heifer.  When  she  made  no  effort  he 
pounded  her  with  the  bone.  She  only  looked 
round  at  him,  and  Bill  laid  the  bone  down. 

'  *  After  a  while  Bill  reached  out  to  his  slicker 
and  got  the  book  that  was  wrapped  in  it.  He 
laid  it  on  the  cow  and  turned  the  pages  over, 
thinking  it  might  take  his  mind  for  a  while. 
But  the  reading  in  it  was  like  talking  to  some 
person  that  only  thought  of  himself  and  his 
learning  and  did  n  't  think  or  care  what  became 
of  him.  He  liked  the  company  of  the  heifer 
better,  so  he  threw  it  aside,  and  folded  his  arms 
on  her,  leaning  his  head  against  her  side. 

"At  last  night  came  on  to  bother  him  again 
—and  it  was  a  clear,  deep  sky  filled  with  stars. 
At  night  Bill  usually  sat  in  front  of  the  shack, 
looking  at  the  fire-hole  to  keep  his  mind  at 
home,  and  speaking  to  Maggie.  He  did  n't  like 


232  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

the  stars.  But  now  he  was  in  a  fix  where  he 
could  hardly  help  looking  at  them.  It  was  as 
if  they  had  got  him  at  last  where  he  could  n't 
get  away.  He  folded  his  arms  on  the  cow 
again,  and  put  his  face  against  her  warm  side, 
with  his  eyes  shut,  and  waited  for  sleep.  And 
after  a  long  time  the  breathing  of  the  cow 
helped  him  to  forget  and  put  him  to  sleep. 

'  *  In  the  morning  he  woke  up  with  a  start.  It 
was  just  past  dawn.  Maggie  sat  watching  him ; 
when  he  moved  she  stood  up  and  set  her  tail 
going  and  tried  to  show  how  glad  she  was.  The 
sheep  were  still  in  sight,  where  she  had  kept 
them  bunched  until  he  should  go  along.  A 
buzzard  was  sailing  high  above  him,  circling 
round  and  round  to  signal  the  other  buzzards 
that  there  was  carrion  below.  And  before  long 
another  buzzard  arrived  and  took  up  the  wheel- 
ing round  and  round.  He  had  sunk  a  little  dur- 
ing the  night,  and  the  cow  had  sunk  with  him. 
She  lay  with  her  neck  stretched  out  and  one 
eye  was  in  the  mud ;  but  the  other  eye  was  open, 
and  Bill  could  see  that  it  had  a  glazed  stare. 
Pretty  soon  her  flesh  felt  different  to  him— and 
then  Bill  felt  bad,  and  had  a  different  kind  of 
loneliness.  It  was  like  losing  a  friend. 

"A  buzzard  lit  near  by  and  sat  looking  at 
them. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  233 

''He  reached  for  the  thigh-bone.  'Hike  out 
of  here,  you  hunch-backed  scavenger!'— and 
he  threw  the  bone  straight  and  swift.  The  buz- 
zard flapped  up  in  the  air  and  landed  on  the 
same  spot  again,  jumping  over  the  bone  as  it 
passed.  Bill  looked  around  for  something  else 
to  throw,  and  there  was  nothing  in  reach  but 
the  mud.  Bill  and  the  buzzard  sat  looking  at 
each  other,  and  waiting. 

"Then  the  sun  rose  higher  and  got  hot  on 
his  head,  for  he  had  laid  his  hat  at  the  edge  of 
the  hole  when  he  went  to  work.  He  made  up 
his  mind  that  if  the  buzzards  came  to  the  cow 
while  he  was  there,  he  would  tear  them  to 
pieces. 

"He  looked  around  toward  his  hat  and  saw 
a  yearling  bull  coming  across  the  range  to- 
ward the  watering-hole.  The  idea  jumped  into 
his  head  that  if  he  had  hold  of  the  bull's  tail 
it  would  be  the  way  of  getting  out.  He  knew 
he  had  enough  strength  in  his  arms,  if  he  had 
hold  of  something  on  a  straightaway  pull.  He 
rubbed  his  hands  quick  and  hard  on  the  cow  to 
get  them  dry  and  clean.  He  turned  his  body 
around  as  far  as  he  could  twist— which  was  n't 
far— and  tried  reaching  out  behind  him.  When 
he  found  that  one  of  his  hands  would  reach  no 
farther  back  than  his  own  shoulder  his  heart 


234  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

went  down  again,  for  he  was  afraid  he  would 
get  hold  only  with  one  hand.  The  other  arm 
would  go  out  full  length,  and  the  little  pool  was 
only  three  feet  away.  It  all  depended  on  which 
way  the  bull  would  turn  when  he  was  through 
drinking.  He  crouched  down  low,  with  his 
hands  at  his  breast,  and  waited. 

* '  The  bull  was  one  of  the  kind  that  had  prob- 
ably never  seen  a  man  except  on  horseback; 
anyway,  it  paid  no  attention  to  him,  as  he  sat 
twisted  and  bent,  but  walked  straight  in  and 
drank  all  the  seepage  in  the  little  pool.  Its  head 
was  so  near  Bill  that  he  could  smell  its  sweet 
breath  as  it  breathed  deep  and  blew  from  its 
nostrils.  And  as  it  pulled  itself  from  the  mire 
he  saw  that  it  was  going  to  keep  straight  on  and 
go  out  of  the  other  side,  which  would  bring 
its  tail  past  him.  He  was  crouching  low  with 
all  his  power  coiled  up  inside  of  him  ready  for 
a  quick  reach  and  a  grab,  and  he  saw  that  he 
was  only  going  to  get  it  with  one  hand.  But 
as  he  was  about  to  spring,  the  bull  whisked  its 
tail  straight  into  his  hands,  and  he  clenched  it 
just  above  the  tuft  of  hair.  The  bull  made  a 
lunge  to  start  suddenly  away,  but  the  mire  held 
its  feet,  and  that  saved  Bill  from  having  the 
tail  jerked  out  of  his  hands.  The  bull  had  to 
pull  out  slow,  and  Bill  put  the  power  into  his 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  235 

hands  and  arms.  He  pulled  straight  out  from 
under  the  cow. 

''As  the  bull  got  to  the  edge  of  the  bog  the 
tail  went  out  of  his  hands  with  a  jerk,  and  Bill 
lay  with  his  head  on  the  grass.  He  had  come 
out  easier  than  he  expected.  As  he  tried  to 
get  up  he  found  that  his  legs  were  asleep.  He 
was  helpless  and  without  feeling  from  the  hips 
down— as  much  as  if  he  had  been  paralyzed. 
He  propped  himself  up  with  one  hand  and 
worked  his  legs  up  and  down,  grasping  them 
by  the  knees.  He  slapped  and  kneaded  them, 
and  then  rolled  on  the  ground.  And  when  they 
were  almost  done  prickling  he  kicked  them  up 
in  the  air  until  he  got  them  working  so  that  he 
could  rise  on  them. 

"As  he  stood  up  and  moved  about  he  felt 
dizzy,  and  his  head  was  so  dull  and  numb-feel- 
ing that  he  thumped  it  with  his  knuckles,  as  if 
he  was  testing  it.  It  sounded  as  if  it  was  filled 
with  water;  and  when  he  moved  it  suddenly 
it  seemed  to  stir  up  the  settlings  at  the  bottom, 
and  he  could  see  the  specks  floating  before  his 
eyes.  It  sounded  so  dull  and  strange  that  he 
thumped  it  again  and  listened— just  as  if  he 
was  knocking  on  his  skull  to  see  if  his  brains 
was  home.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that  they 
were  sleeping,  and  he  could  only  get  them  half 


236  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

awake.  He  decided  that  it  was  on  account  of 
the  sun  beating  down  on  his  head,  and  the 
don't-care  way  he  had  got  his  mind  into  and 
then  gone  to  sleep  on.  Maggie  capered  round 
him,  barking,  and  she  jumped  against  him  so 
hard  it  almost  threw  him  over.  He  picked  up 
his  hat  and  went  across  the  range  to  his  shack, 
jerking  his  head  once  in  a  while  the  way  a  horse 
tosses  his  mane,  and  thumping  his  head  to  see 
if  it  felt  the  same.  At  the  shack  he  held  his 
head  in  the  cool  spring,  and  this  cleared  his 
brains  a  good  deal.  Then  he  got  himself  a 
meal  with  lots  of  coffee,  arid  this  pulled  him  to- 
gether still  more.  After  he  sat  a  while  he 
patted  Maggie  on  the  head  and  they  started  out 
to  get  the  sheep  together.  As  he  walked  back 
across  the  range  he  felt  still  better,  and  then 
he  got  to  thinking  of  the  fine  way  he  had  got  out 
of  that  place,  and  how  he  had  got  the  best  of 
things.  He  saw  the  bull  again,  and  then  he 
smiled  and  began  to  be  pleased  with  himself 
and  have  great  satisfaction— the  same  as  when 
he  had  done  a- good  job. 

"When  he  had  got  the  sheep  together  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  when  the  month  was 
up,  and  the  man  came  out  again,  he  would  give 
notice  and  quit  the  herding;  he  felt  as  if  he 
would  like  to  get  out  where  he  could  kick  his 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  237 

mind  up  the  same  as  he  had  his  legs,  and  get 
the  life  back  into  it.  He  took  his  revolver  out 
and  looked  it  over.  He  put  an  old  long-horn 
skull  up  in  a  mesquite  bush,  and  then  stood  off 
and  put  a  round  of  lead  into  it;  and  then  he 
smiled  again  to  think  how  he  had  learned  to 
do  that  kind  of  a  job.  His  mind  had  entirely 
changed  about  having  some  one  always  trying 
to  catch  him,  and  now  he  was  looking  ahead 
to  the  time  when  they  would  think  they  had 
him,  and  he  would  take  the  tool  from  his  belt, 
and  beat  them  at  the  job.  And  as  he  thought 
it  over  he  wanted  to  quit  right  away  and  get  at 
it.  He  brought  the  sheep  in  earlier  that  even- 
ing, and  had  them  behind  the  bars  before  sun- 
down. As  the  last  lamb  trotted  in  he  lit  the 
four  red  coyote-lanterns  and  put  them  on  their 
poles  at  the  corners  of  the  pen.  Then  he  went 
round  to  the  front  of  the  shack,  lit  the  fire- 
hole  before  the  door,  and  put  on  his  supper. 
The  sun  was  going  down  as  red  as  a  coyote- 
lantern.  Far  off  to  the  right  was  the  line  of 
trees  along  the  San  Gabriel;  it  seemed  to  Bill 
as  if  they  were  a  black  procession  winding 
across  the  prairie  and  following  the  red  sun 
away  from  that  monotonous,  lonesome  place. 
Presently  the  sun  went  down  over  the  edge  of 
the  world  and  took  all  the  bright  clouds  after 


238  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

it;  and  then  the  line  of  trees  filed  away  and 
left  only  the  darkness  behind.  And  the  night 
came  down  and  drew  nearer  and  hemmed  him 
in.  His  work  had  tired  him,  and  he  had  no 
appetite.  His  brain  was  heavy  again,  and  he 
sat  with  his  head  between  his  hands,  thinking 
of  Tiffin  and  of  Eva  and  Nellie  and  me,  and  of 
all  that  he  had  gone  through.  The  hominy 
boiled  over.  He  set  it  aside,  drank  a  cup  of 
coffee,  and  then  went  and  sat  in  the  door  of 
the  shack,  drawing  farther  away  from  the 
night.  Maggie  followed  him  and  sat  down  be- 
side him,  and  they  stayed  there  together  watch- 
ing the  dark.  He  had  dipped  the  sheep  again 
a  week  before,  and  some  of  the  petroleum  was 
near  the  door.  He  poured  some  of  it  on  the 
fire  and  watched  it  blaze  up  and  chase  the 
night  back  from  his  fire-hole.  As  he  sat  watch- 
ing it  he  spoke  to  Maggie  as  she  sat  down  again, 
and  she  started  up  her  tail,  beating  it  on  the 
ground.  The  embers  died  away  in  the  fire-hole 
and  buried  themselves  in  the  night.  He  kept 
on  sitting  there,  with  Maggie  resting  her  chin 
on  his  thigh  and  dreaming  with  her  eyes  half 
closed  as  he  stroked  her  head.  He  rested  his 
chin  in  his  palm,  thinking  of  Eva  and  Nellie. 
And  then  he  would  think  of  Tiffin  again,  and 
sit  with  his  eyes  open  to  the  dark,  and  his  ears 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  239 

open  to  the  howl  of  a  coyote  that  sounded  as 
if  it  was  complaining  of  its  hunger  to  the  night. 
The  stars  were  out,  all  hung  up  in  their  places 
in  the  sky,  and  he  found  they  had  his  mind 
again.  He  started  up,  thinking  he  would  go 
into  the  shack  and  bar  the  door  against  the 
night  and  the  stars.  As  he  rose  and  spoke  to 
Maggie  he  noticed  that  the  edge  of  the  shack 
cast  a  faint  shadow,  as  if  the  rising  moon  was 
coming  out  over  the  edge  of  a  cloud.  Then  the 
ground  turned  brighter,  as  if  the  moon  had 
suddenly  leaped  up  into  the  sky.  It  startled 
him  to  have  such  a  foolish  thought.  And 
while  he  was  looking  and  doubting,  the  light 
upon  the  ground  looked  redder  and  flowed  with 
smoke-shadows,  as  if  the  moon  had— caught 
fire.  For  one  instant  he  stood  holding  his 
breath,  with  his  eyes  on  the  shadows  and  his 
two  fists  doubled  up  before  him.  And  sud- 
denly there  was  a  chorus  of  bleats  and  ba-a-as 
that  burst  out  as  if  they  had  been  let  out  of  a 
door,  and  there  was  a  lull  and  a  bigger  glow  of 
red,  and  then  the  ba-a-as  all  together  again, 
and  the  trembling  cries  of  lambs,  as  if  the  lid 
had  been  taken  off  a  hell  of  infants.  That  's 
what  Bill  said  it  was  like— and  that  's  the  way 
he  said  it. 

"Bill  jumped  from  behind  the  shack,  and  as 


240  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

he  looked  round  the  corner  he  gave  a  yell  and 
swore  everything  he  could  think  of — as  if  he 
was  trying  to  cuss  himself  straight  into  perdi- 
tion. It  was  the  petroleum  burning  the  flock — 
caught  from  a  coyote-lantern  that  had  fallen 
from  a  pole.  The  woolly,  oily  backs  smoked 
and  flamed  and  stunk,  and  the  fire  was  going 
from  sheep  to  sheep.  The  corral  was  burning, 
and  the  shed  had  caught  and  was  helping  it 
spread. 

"Bill's  wits  came  back  to  his  head  with  a 
leap.  He  ran  and  made  an  opening  in  the  far 
side  of  the  pen,  kicking  and  tearing  the  rails  off 
like  a  madman.  He  made  a  grab  for  an  old 
wether  and  dragged  her  out  on  the  prairie,  call- 
ing, '  She-e-e-p !  She-e-e-p ! '  Some  of  the  sheep 
followed  the  other  out  of  the  opening ;  and  soon 
he  had  more  of  the  flock  following  as  he  backed 
along  with  his  fingers  in  the  wool  of  the  wether. 
It  looked  as  if  he  could  save  part  of  the  flock. 
But  those  that  had  just  caught  fire  crowded 
along  behind  until  they  were  all  in  a  scared 
mass ;  and  the  wind  blew  the  flames  of  the  cor- 
ral forward  over  the  backs  of  the  others.  Bill 
pulled  the  wether  and  stumbled  and  fell;  and 
as  he  went  down  on  his  back  he  saw  some  of 
the  smoking  sheep  crowding  toward  him  and 
crying  all  at  once.  And  as  he  scrambled  to  his 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  241 

feet  he  turned  and  struck  out  for  the  dark- 
ness. 

"What  it  was  that  came  over  him  he  did  n't 
know;  it  seemed  that  all  his  troubles  had  been 
unloaded  on  him  at  once,  and  the  furies  were 
after  him  for  revenge.  He  did  n't  look  back, 
for  his  very  soul  was  turned  against  the  place, 
and  he  had  to  get  away  from  it  and  out  of 
sight  of  it.  And  as  he  ran  he  could  see  it  all 
as  plain  as  if  he  had  an  eye  behind— and  there 
were  the  sheep  pursuing  him  with  brands  of  fire. 

"The  burning  of  the  pen  and  sheds  caught 
the  dry  grass.  A  line  of  prairie  fire  took  up  the 
chase  and  threw  his  long  shadow  before  him. 
And  the  long  legs  of  his  shadow,  stepping  so 
high  before  him,  and  then  coming  down  in  his 
own  tracks  again,  seemed  like  a  thing  mocking 
him  and  making  fun  of  the  little  speed  his  own 
legs  were  making.  He  had  stopped  yelling,  but 
he  could  still  hear  his  own  strange  voice  inside 
his  dull  head,  and  the  trembling  bleats  of  the 
little  lambs  were  echoing  in  his  brain. 

"He  did  not  stop  till  he  had  splashed 
through  the  San  Gabriel  and  run  up  a  high 
bank ;  and  then  he  only  looked  back  a  moment. 
The  grass  was  burning  its  last  in  a  fringe  of 
flame  along  the  creek.  Spots  of  smoldering 
fire  were  sprinkled  on  the  black  prairie  about 


242  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

the  corral,  as  if  an  army  had  camped  out  for 
the  night.  The  sheep  had  not  followed  him 
as  far  as  he  imagined— it  was  the  prairie  fire; 
but  this  made  no  difference  to  his  feelings.  He 
felt  as  if  something  was  haunting  his  back, 
and  that  he  must  get  away  from  there;  and 
he  again  took  up  the  flight.  Near  the  road  he 
came  to  Lady,  where  he  had  staked  her  out. 
He  jerked  out  the  stake,  gathered  up  the  rope 
quickly  to  the  length  of  a  bridle,  jumped  on 
her,  and  struck  out  along  the  road.  It  was  a 
wild  ride  he  had— the  hardest  run  that  Lady 
ever  made.  Bill  leaned  forward,  with  one  arm 
ahead  as  he  held  to  her  ^ane,  and  the  other 
arm  working  like  a  pump-handle  at  every 
bound,  as  he  held  the  stake  and  tangled  coil 
of  rope.  Lady  stretched  and  doubled  along 
the  road.  When  they  came  to  a  turn  in  the 
road  she  was  going  so  fast  that  she  sat  and 
slid;  but  she  turned  on  her  heel  and  sprang 
away  to  the  left,  with  her  nostrils  opened  wider 
as  she  put  on  the  speed— as  if  she  knew  that 
Bill  wanted  her  to  go.  On  and  on  they  flew 
toward  the  rising  moon— and  it  seemed  to  Bill 
as  if  he  was  a  lunatic  trying  to  catch  it.  He 
could  still  hear  the  bleating  in  his  mind,  and 
the  chorus  bursting  out  again,  like  the  organ 
in  the  church  with  the  trembling  stop  pulled 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  243 

out.  And  the  dread  was  still  behind  him  like 
a  fury  chasing  him  on. 

"  After  a  while  he  saw  a  white  cottage  far 
down  the  road,  shining  in  the  moonlight  be- 
tween the  orchard  trees.  He  could  see  the  yel- 
low gleaming  of  pumpkins  stored  in  the 
crotches  of  the  trees  before  the  house.  He 
whacked  his  hand  on  Lady's  neck,  and  she  went 
wild  with  travel— and  then  the  cottage  came 
nearer,  faster  and  faster. 

"As  he  reached  the  house  he  tugged  madly 
at  the  rope  to  stop  her— for  he  wanted  to  get 
to  where  there  were  people  and  hear  human 
voices  once  again.  She  went  on  her  haunches 
again,  stopping  so  short  that  she  unseated  him ; 
and  he  made  a  flight  through  the  air,  holding 
tight  to  the  stake  and  followed  by  flourishing 
coils  of  rope. 

"Bill  struck  on  his  head  and  shoulders.  And 
right  there  he  got  what  he  was  looking  for— 
to  forget  the  sheep  and  the  lambs  and  Tiffin  and 
the  bloody  shirt.  It  knocked  him  senseless. 
And  Lady  had  got  her  blood  up,  so  that  she 
kept  on  down  the  road,  scared  more  and  more 
by  the  stake  that  was  tumbling  and  jumping 
along  behind  her  and  cutting  capers  at  the  end 
of  the  rope. 

"When  Bill  came  to,  his  eyes  half  opened  on 


244  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

a  ceiling.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  world 
was  being  all  made  over  new ;  for  first  he  saw 
only  the  whiteness  of  the  ceiling,  and  then  he 
began  to  know  length  and  breadth,  and  he 
knew  it  was  solid.  When  things  took  form 
around  him  he  began  to  feel  that  they  were 
solid,  and  pretty  soon  the  pillow  became  so 
hard  that  it  hurt  a  sore  place  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  and  he  rolled  it  sideways  on  the  fea- 
thers. 

"Suddenly  he  heard  a  call,  'She-e-e-p! 
She-e-e-p!' 

"It  was  screeched  in  a  squeaky  voice,  and 
brought  him  to  his  live  senses,  as  if  some  one 
had  touched  a  nerve.  Then  he  knew  that  it 
had  been  going  on  for  some  time,  and  it  was 
this  that  brought  him  awake ;  and  he  sat  up  to 
listen.  It  was  the  squeaking  of  a  pump  in  the 
yard. 

"The  gushing  of  the  water  and  the  rusty 
screeching  of  the  handle  reminded  him  of  his 
own  voice  calling  the  hateful  word,  and  he  lay 
back  to  endure  it  till  it  stopped.  When  it  was 
over  he  looked  about  him  curiously.  He  was 
in  a  strange  room  in  a  small  house ;  his  bed  was 
by  a  window  looking  out  on  a  yard,  with  the 
blinds  half  open.  Then  he  remembered  and 
knew  it  must  be  the  white  house  where  the 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  245 

pumpkins  were  in  the  trees.  In  the  next  room 
he  heard  voices;  now  and  then  he  caught  a 
word;  once  he  heard  some  one  plainly  say, 
'Sheep.'  He  listened  hard,  but  could  not  get 
the  drift  of  the  talk.  There  was  the  deep 
grumble  of  men's  voices  and  the  chatter  of  a 
woman.  Presently  he  heard  the  chairs  screech 
all  at  once  as  they  pushed  them  back  and  arose. 
They  went  out  on  the  porch.  Their  voices 
rose  louder  as  they  took  leave  of  some  one, 
and  out  there  he  could  hear  the  plainer. 

1 ' '  Yes,  Mr.  Haskins ;  Luke  wanted  to  go 
down  the  road  and  leave  me  with  that  man,  and 
him  likely  to  come  to  at  any  time,  and  no 
telling  what  he  might  do.  I  smelled  sheep 
on  him  right  away  when  Luke  found  him  in  the 
ditch,  and  now  I  know  he  is  crazy. ' 

"  'That 's  right,'  said  Haskins.  'He  would 
n't  have  left  the  bunch  running  loose  and  come 
down  here  in  that  shape  if  he  wasn't  gone 
wrong. ' 

* '  *  When  was  it  you  saw  them  last  1 '  inquired 
the  other  man. 

"  'Just  now,  when  I  was  coming  down  here 
—about  a  couple  of  hours  ago.' 

"  'How  long  do  you  suppose  they  might 
have  been  straying?' 

"  'Well,  they  might  have  been  out  a  month, 


246  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

and  they  might  have  been  out  a  day.  There 
were  only  a  thousand  or  so— a  small  bunch  if 
that  was  all  there  was  of  them  to  start  with. 
They  were  up  at  the  north  end  of  the  San 
Gabriel  range,  near  where  they  put  in  the  wire 
last  fall.  The  dog  looked  hungry  and  pretty 
much  disgusted;  but  I  didn't  bother  about 
them ;  I  'm  no  sheep-man.  It  would  n  't  hurt 
if  the  coyotes  did  take  off  a  few;  it  would  be 
better  for  cattle.  I  tell  you,  Luke,  you  bet- 
ter stay  with  her  and  keep  an  eye  on  him. 
She  's  right  about  it:  he  might  do  damage.' 
They  talked  it  all  over  again,  and  then  the 
visitor  said  good-by. 

"Bill  imagined  himself  getting  up  and  say- 
ing, 'My  sheep  caught  fire  and  burned  up. 
They  ran  after  me  and  scared  me,  and  I  got 
on  a  horse  and  came  away  so  fast  I  couldn't 
stay  on  her  back.' 

' '  That  thing  of  coming  so  far  down  the  road 
on  such  a  run,  and  getting  in  the  ditch  with  a 
lump  on  the  back  of  his  head,  was  what  he  saw 
would  be  hard  to  explain  away.  If  he  told 
them  the  simple  truth,  it  would  only  convince 
them  that  he  was  what  they  thought  he  was— 
crazy.  He  thought  he  would  just  get  up  and 
try  to  act  as  sane  as  possible,  and  put  on  his 
clothes  and  go  away.  But  he  couldn't  make 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  247 

up  a  story,  and  they  would  want  to  know.  The 
only  way  out  of  it,  then,  was  for  him  to  get  up 
and  say  he  was  much  obliged  and  that  he 
was  going  on  his  way;  and  then,  if  they  tried 
to  prevent  him,  to  get  the  upper  hand  of  them. 
But  he  didn't  want  to  make  trouble  for  them 
or  scare  the  woman  that  had  been  so  kind 
to  him.  It  was  a  conundrum  for  Bill.  He 
thought  he  would  take  a  little  time  to  consider 
it  so  that  he  would  do  the  right  thing.  He  re- 
arranged the  bedclothes,  placed  himself  in  the 
position  in  which  he  awoke,  and  shut  his  eyes, 
not  quite  closing  them,  but  looking  at  the  ceil- 
ing through  his  lashes.  He  thought  that  maybe, 
in  order  to  get  out  easy,  it  would  be  good  for 
him  to  pretend  the  unharmed  sheep  were  his 
own,  and  make  up  a  tale  to  fit  that.  And  then 
he  fell  to  thinking  and  wondering  how  the 
sheep  got  out  there— a  bunch  the  size  of  his 
own,  and  in  his  range,  and  with  the  herder 
gone,  the  same  as  he  was  from  his.  He  could 
n't  get  that  out  of  his  mind. 

"While  he  was  thinking  the  door  opened, 
and  he  pretended  to  be  insensible,  with  his  eyes 
opened  so  that  he  saw  as  if  it  was  twilight.  A 
woman  worked  around  busily  in  the  corner  of 
the  room.  Then  she  came  and  stood  at  the  foot 
of  his  bed,  looking  at  him.  She  brushed  a  fly 


248  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

off  his  nose  and  went  out.  After  that  Bill  lay 
very  quiet  and  kept  his  eyes  closed,  for  fear 
she  might  suddenly  look  in.  He  hated  the  idea 
of  being  taken  for  a  lunatic,  and  he  hated  worse 
to  be  pretending  he  was  sane— and  he  couldn't 
come  to  a  conclusion.  After  a  while  his  head 
got  to  swimming  round  again  and  he  went  to 
sleep. 

"When  he  awoke  it  was  night.  There  was  a 
lamp  burning  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  A 
man  was  sitting  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  be- 
side a  small  center- table,  his  sombrero  lying 
by  the  lamp.  He  was  a  giant  of  a  fellow,  and 
sat  with  his  head  bowed  and  his  hands  in  his 
lap,  with  the  fingers  locked  and  his  thumbs 
sticking  up. 

* '  The  chair  was  a  flimsy  white  affair  with  long, 
slender  legs— a  sort  of  parlor  ornament.  The 
fellow  sat  on  it  with  only  one  hip  and  with  his 
legs  crossed.  The  chair  caught  him  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  back,  and  Bill  could  see  that  it  was 
uncomfortable ;  for  he  shifted  to  the  other  hip, 
crossed  his  legs  in  the  opposite  way,  and  tried 
to  settle  himself  again,  using  a  good  deal  of 
care,  as  if  he  was  afraid  the  chair  might  break. 

"Bill  lay  with  his  eyes  half  opened,  looking 
him  over.  The  man's  belt  had  a  holster,  but 
there  was  no  revolver  in  it.  Bill  looked  to  the 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  249 

table  to  see  if  it  was  there.  '  It  was  n't  there  or 
anywhere  else  in  sight.  That  struck  Bill  as 
being  strange;  so  he  lay  with  his  eyes  on  the 
empty  holster,  thinking  it  over.  When  the  man 
shifted  again  he  saw  that  the  gun  was  at  the 
opposite  side  of  the  belt  from  where  the  holster 
was.  It  was  a  patent  snaffle.  That  interested 
Bill  and  he  lay  studying  it.  He  saw  that  with 
the  snaffle  the  gun  could  be  slipped  out  side- 
ways past  a  steel  spring  and  brought  up  to 
shoot  without  the  motion  of  drawing;  or  the 
gun  could  be  simply  tipped  up  on  a  swivel  and 
fired  from  the  belt  directly,  in  the  time  it  takes 
to  jerk  the  wrist.  It  struck  him  as  a  good  thing 
for  a  constable  or  a  detective,  but  he  didn't 
fancy  it  for  himself.  He  wondered  whether 
the  man  was  a  constable  or  a  sheriff  or  a  detec- 
tive. He  had  seen  one  like  it  on  a  sheriff 
in  one  of  the  northern  counties;  but,  as  the 
fellow  had  the  holster  too,  it  looked  to  Bill  as 
if  he  did  all-round  work,  and  had  just  taken 
a  fancy  to  this.  Maybe  he  was  only  a  cow-boy. 
He  lay  quiet,  and  breathed  as  if  it  was*some- 
thing  he  had  to  tend  to  and  must  do  quietly. 

"After  a  time  his  watcher  became  sleepy. 
His  head  would  fall  slowly ;  he  would  wilt  down 
gradually  so  that  it  would  look  as  if  he  would 
fall  over;  but  just  as  he  was  almost  gone  he 


250  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

would  catch  himself  with  a  limp  jerk  and  get 
his  balance  again.  Then  he  would  begin  to  wilt 
away  again.  At  last,  when  he  had  nearly  top- 
pled over,  he  arose,  pushed  the  chair  aside, 
and  sat  down  in  the  corner  with  his  knees  al- 
most in  his  armpits.  His  heavy  breathing 
became  a  snore,  and  finally  Bill  heard  him  gasp 
at  times  as  if  he  was  drowning  in  the  depths 
of  his  own  sleep. 

"It  struck  Bill  that  this  was  the  proper  time 
for  him  to  leave.  He  sat  up  carefully  and 
looked  about.  He  took  his  coat  and  trousers 
from  the  foot-board  of  the  bed.  His  revolver 
was  gone  from  the  holster,  but  his  money  was 
in  his  pocket.  He  found  his  shoes  and  hat,  and 
when  he  had  everything  gathered  under  his 
arm  and  was  ready  to  go  he  stopped  a  moment 
and  looked  at  the  man.  He  took  the  fellow's 
revolver,  pressing  the  spring  so  that  it  slipped 
out  of  the  snaffle  without  as  much  as  touching 
him ;  for  they  had  hidden  his  revolver  and  he 
thought  it  was  fair  trade.  Then  he  dropped  out 
of  th&  open  window  and  hurried  across  the 
yard  and  down  the  road,  where  he  got  into  the 
ditch  behind  some  tall  weeds  and  dressed  him- 
self. Then  he  ran  on  down  the  road,  looking 
back  now  and  then,  ready  to  drop  in  the  weeds 
in  case  the  fellow  came  after  him  with  his  own 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  251 

revolver.  He  had  hardly  gone  half  a  mile 
when  he  came  across  Lady.  The  stake  had 
caught  in  a  mesquite  bush  and  tethered  her. 
He  loosened  the  stake,  and  this  time  he  ar- 
ranged his  riding-gear  with  more  care,  using 
the  iron  stake  as  a  bit  and  making  a  rope  head- 
piece with  reins  knotted  at  the  horse 's  withers. 
He  patted  Lady  on  the  neck  and  spoke  to  her ; 
then  he  got  on  and  rode  back,  skirting  round  as 
he  came  to  the  cottage,  and  then  striking  the 
road  and  loping  along  back  to  the  San  Gabriel 
ranch  again.  It  was  a  queer  bridle,  but  a  good 
one;  the  iron  stake  was  sticking  out,  fierce- 
looking,  from  the  corners  of  Lady's  mouth, 
like  the  feelers  of  a  big  insect. ' ' 

Finerty,  who  had  been  listening  attentively 
to  Stumpy 's  narrative,  raised  his  hand  and  ex- 
claimed: "Back  to  th'  place  again!  D'ye 
know,  'twas  what  I  thought  he  'd  be  doin'— to 
find  if  he  was  crazy  or  not." 


CHAPTER  XX 

HAT  would  make  a  fine  story— 
if  it  was  told  right,"  remarked 
Stumpy.  "I  '11  bet,  if  he  had 
been  going  back  for  that,  he 
would  have  been  anxious  to  see 
whose  mark  was  on  that  stray 
flock.  But  the  fact  is,  Bill  was  n't  going  out 
there  for  that.  He  was  just  going  back '  to  stick 
his  blame  nose  in  things'— the  way  Bill  used  to 
blame  himself  for.  And  besides  that,  he  was 
going  out  the  same  as  he  would  make  a  horse  go 
back  and  look  at  a  piece  of  paper  that  it  had  got 
scared  at.  He  had  got  kind  of  ashamed  of  him- 
self for  letting  himself  go  like  that,  and  he  did 
n't  feel  satisfied  to  leave  until  he  had  gone  out 
and  done  it  right ;  and  he  wanted  to  find  about 
those  sheep,  thinking  he  might  do  a  favor  to 
some  other  herder  that  had  bad  luck.  .It  was 
against  his  nature  every  step,  for  the  bleating 
of  the  lambs  had  gone  into  him  deep ;  but  after 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  make  himself  do  it, 

252 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  253 

he  did  n  't  mind  it  so  much.  And  he  felt  so  good 
to  be  out  in  the  world  again  and  free  from 
herding  that  he  was  n't  even  afraid  of  the  stars 
now. 

"The  sky  was  covered  with  cloud  like  a 
blanket  all  tatters  and  tears,  and  as  it  drifted 
along  the  moon  would  sail  past  the  holes  in  the 
depths  of  blue.  He  followed  along  the  road, 
riding  Lady  at  a  lope,  till  he  came  to  a  gate 
at  the  corner  of  the  range,  and  then  he  struck 
out  across  the  open.  The  shadows  lay  over  the 
prairie  in  so  misleading  a  way  that  he  lost  his 
bearings.  He  wanted  to  find  a  shack  some- 
where to  lay  down  in  till  morning,  for  it  felt 
like  rain.  Presently  the  moon  shone  out  and 
showed  him  an  old  shed  in  the  distance— one 
that  had  been  infected  and  abandoned  some 
seasons  back.  This  would  set  him  right ;  so  he 
rode  toward  it,  keeping  in  view  the  open  side, 
that  looked  dark  and  deep  like  a  cave,  and  was 
easy  to  see.  When  he  got  near  it  he  could  see 
the  fringe  of  old  pelts  and  the  rams'  skulls  with 
crooked  horns  all  hung  up  round  the  edge  of 
roof  in  the  moonlight.  Then  he  knew  where  he 
was,  and  he  turned  to  the  northeast.  He  had 
not  gone  far  when  he  suddenly  rode  in  among 
the  sheep." 

"'Twas  his  own  sheep,  I  'm  thinkin'.    He 


254  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

had  been  out  av  his  mind!"  exclaimed  Fin- 
erty. 

1 1  Naw, ' '  replied  Stumpy,  with  a  tinge  of  dis- 
gust at  Finerty's  pertinacity;  "they  were  just 
a  stray  flock.  I  might  as  well  tell  you  right 
now  about  them.  The  herder  had  been  struck 
by  lightning  and  the  sheep  had  grazed  along 
for  over  a  hundred  miles.  They  found  the 
herder  afterward  sitting  under  a  pecan-tree, 
where  he  had  gone  to  get  out  of  the  rain.  That 
has  happened  many  a  time— or  something  else. 
As  I  was  saying,  Bill  suddenly  heard  a  bleat 
and  rode  in  among  a  bunch  of  sheep.  A  dog 
barked  and  snarled  and  ran  back  and  forth 
among  them,  somewhere  ahead.  Bill  threw 
himself  from  the  horse,  grabbed  a  sheep,  and 
looked  her  over  curiously.  But  it  was  so  dim 
moonlight  that  he  could  not  see  any  marks  or 
make  them  out.  They  were  like  his  own  sheep 
—and  everybody  else's  sheep.  He  dropped 
the  sheep  and  ran  toward  the  dog,  pulling  Lady 
after  him.  The  collie  stood  holding  her 
ground,  growling  and  snarling ;  but  as  he  came 
closer  she  backed  away  and  raised  an  awful 
yapping  to  scare  him  off. 

"  'Come,  dog;  come,  dog,'  said  Bill,  stooping 
down  and  patting  his  knee  to  coax  her.  Then 
she  went  through  strange  antics,  running  about 
and  wagging  half  her  body,  as  if  she  would  like 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  255 

to  trust  him,  but  always  keeping  her  dis- 
tance. And  she  acted  it  out  with  all  kinds  of 
contortions,  fawning  round  on  the  air  and 
twisting  and  walking  sideways,  and  acting 
humble  and  friendly,  and  snarling  and  showing 
her  teeth  whenever  he  ran  toward  her.  And 
the  way  she  did  it  pained  Bill  and  touched  his 
heart." 

"I  'm  thinkin',  if  he  was  goin'  out  there  to 
find  was  he  crazy,  he  w'u'd  'a'  been  in  a  divil 
av  a  shtate  av  mind  in  that  place.  'T  w  'u  'd  'a ' 
been  a  botheration  av  a  fix  to  be  in,"  put  in 
Finerty. 

"But  ain't  I  telling  you  Bill  didn't  think 
he  was  crazy?  He  was  n't  any  duffer  like  that. 
If  Bill  had  been  crazy  he  would  n't  'a'  let  on," 
insisted  Stumpy. 

"We  '11  not  argy  about  it,"  said  Finerty. 

"As  I  was  saying,"  continued  Stumpy, 
"when  Bill  got  a  glimpse  of  her  in  the  moon- 
light he  saw  that  she  ran  about  with  the 
slouchy  gait  of  a  hyena,  as  if  she  was  half 
starved  and  weak  in  the  hind  quarters;  and 
when  Bill  coaxed  and  spoke  kind  to  her,  she 
would  run  about  with  her  head  twisted  round 
and  held  down  humble  so  that  she  would  al- 
most step  on  it.  Sometimes  she  tried  to  speak 
like  a  dog  does— mouthing  a  whine  out  and 
rolling  her  head.  And  the  more  Bill  coaxed, 


256  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

the  more  she  capered  and  writhed  and  wagged 
her  body  and  snarled  and  whined  and  kept  her 
distance— as  if  she  was  in  pain  with  wanting 
a  friend,  and  not  being  able  to  trust  him.  She 
just  as  much  as  said:  'I  am  a  good  dog,  but 
I  must  n't  trust  people  like  you.'  And  then  she 
would  waste  all  her  affection  on  the  ground  and 
the  air.  Bill  felt  so  bad  for  her  that  he  could 
have  cried.  Since  he  had  been  chased  round 
so  much,  he  liked  dogs  and  horses  more  and 
more,  because  they  are  a  friend  that  sticks 
to  you  and  trusts  you,  and  can  be  depended 
on.  When  he  saw  how  she  acted  Bill  knew  just 
how  she  felt,  and  it  made  him  feel  bad  to  see 
an  animal  that  way. 

' '  He  began  to  see  that  he  might  coax  her  all 
night— but  he  kept  on  trying  to  make  his  voice 
sound  more  friendly.  He  wanted  to  convince 
her,  and  it  bothered  him  that  he  could  n't. 
Then  he  sat  down  on  the  prairie,  with  his  head 
on  his  hand,  and  felt  bad.  While  he  sat  there 
he  noticed  that  it  was  growing  black  in  the 
north ;  and  the  prairie  was  turning  so  dark  that 
he  could  not  see  his  way.  Then  it  began  to 
sprinkle  in  a  scattering  way— big,  heavy  drops 
that  hardly  had  the  life  to  be  called  rain.  I 
don't  suppose  Bill  ever  cried  for  himself— 
he  was  n't  the  kind  that  could.  But  I  know 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  257 

he  used  to  feel  bad  in  his  own  way.  Once  in 
a  while  a  drop  would  spatter  on  his  neck,  but  he 
sat  there  and  did  n't  care— just  as  if  it  was 
a  natural  thing  for  him  to  do. 

"Suddenly  the  wind  rose,  and  it  came  in  a 
drench.  He  jumped  to  his  feet  and  began  to 
be  anxious  about  the  animals  around  him.  The 
distance  was  growing  blacker,  and  he  could 
see  a  downpour  coming  that  would  soak  their 
heavy  wool  and  bear  the  weak  ones  to  the 
ground  and  chill  them. 

"He  grabbed  the  stake  from  Lady's  mouth 
and  jabbed  it  into  the  ground  to  hold  her  fast. 
Then  he  ran  about,  stirring  up  the  sheep  and 
calling  them  together  in  hope  of  getting  them 
to  the  old  shed.  The  dog  began  to  help  him. 
She  scurried  about  and  chased  them  together 
till  they  crowded  round  him.  The  rain  came 
in  a  cloudburst,  with  pitch-darkness,  so  that 
he  could  see  nothing.  He  stood  still,  unable 
to  help  them.  He  could  feel  their  fat  forms, 
wet  and  woolly,  crowding  about  and  moving 
against  his  legs.  He  just  stood  there— how 
long  he  did  not  know— calling,  'She-e-e-p, 
sh-e-e-p,  sh-e-e-pP  Everything  had  gone 
out  of  his  mind  but  the  idea  of  saving  the 
sheep,  and  it  seemed  to  Bill  as  if  he  and  the 
storm  were  put  out  there  to  fight  it  out.  And 

17 


258  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

all  he  could  do  was  to  stand  and  roar  out  his 
caU. 

'  *  After  a  time  the  cloud  came  to  an  end,  and 
a  chilling  breeze  began  to  clean  up  the  sky 
after  it  in  a  clear  strip  that  came  closer  and 
spread  and  began  to  shed  the  moonlight  around 
him  again.  The  sheep  were  all  huddled  about ; 
many  of  them  lying  helpless  on  the  ground, 
chilled  and  spiritless,  and  weighted  down  with 
the  rain.  He  went  about,  pulling  the  flock  in 
shape.  One  by  one,  he  set  the  fat  forms  on 
their  pipe-stem  legs,  picking  one  up  again  when 
it  went  down,  and  holding  it  till  it  would  stand 
alone.  Then  he  would  leave  it  to  set  up  an- 
other. And  some  of  them  were  so  spiritless 
that  they  would  be  down  before  he  could  get 
the  rest  up,  and  he  was  afraid  he  could  never 
get  them  all  in  shape.  The  dog  worked  with 
him,  poking  them  with  her  nose  and  getting 
many  to  rise  alone.  The  two  of  them  worked 
that  way  till  they  were  all  up  and  he  had  them 
moving  toward  the  old  shed,  away  from  the 
chilling  wind.  He  walked  along,  dragging  a 
ram  by  the  horn,  with  the  dog  hurrying  about, 
managing  the  stragglers.  Bill  said  it  was  a 
queer  sight  to  look  and  see  the  heavy,  fat  ones 
all  being  taken  care  of  by  an  animal  that 
was  staggering  with  starvation.  The  dog?  you 
see,  had  been  sticking  to  them  so  much  that 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  259 

she  had  n't  time  to  go  away  and  forage  for 
herself. 

"Bill  went  along  that  way,  stopping  now 
and  then  to  pick  up  one  that  was  weak-spirited 
and  feeble-minded  enough  to  give  over,  and 
finally  he  got  them  all  into  harbor.  As  he  was 
driving  the  last  ones  in,  he  heard  the  dog  whin- 
ing again,  and  looking  about,  he  saw  her  set- 
ting up  a  show  of  being  friends  with  him.  And 
the  instant  he  called  her,  she  crawled  to  him  on 
her  belly  and  crouched  before  him.  Bill  took 
hold  of  her,  and  then  sat  down  with  her  head 
in  his  hands,  and  patted  her,  saying,  'Good 
dog !  good  dog ! '  And  while  he  sat  there  he  be- 
gan to  have  a  feeling  of  satisfaction.  He  had 
lost  a  flock— but  he  had  saved  another.  Now 
he  felt  that  he  could  leave  that  place  right— 
and  he  felt  free  of  it,  and  contented  with  him- 
self again. 

"In  the  cool  air  of  the  morning  Bill  began 
to  smell  things  that  reminded  him  of  something 
to  eat— ham  and  eggs  and  bread  and  butter, 
and  especially  coffee.  He  was  so  hungry  that 
he  could  almost  smell  the  ghost  of  a  breakfast 
in  the  air.  And  then,  as  the  appetite  came  to 
him,  he  thought  of  the  dog.  He  put  his  fingers 
in  her  long  hair  and  felt  her  ribs  and  stomach. 

"  'Poor  dog;  you  're  hungry,'  said  Bill. 

"Suddenly  something  came  over  him,  and 


260  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

he  stood  up,  looking  at  the  sheep,  and  espe- 
cially at  a  fat  one  that  was  snuffling  as  it 
breathed.  He  grabbed  a  ram's  skull  from  un- 
der the  eaves  of  the  shed,  and  stood  for  an  in- 
stant aiming  the  battered  horns  above  the 
round  white  head.  Then  it  came  down,  skull  on 
skull— and  the  fat  one  was  meat.  He  pulled 
out  his  knife,  and  when  he  had  opened  it  he 
dropped  to  his  knees.  But  he  paused  and  stood 
up  again. 

"  'What  in  hell  did  I  do  that  for!'  he  said. 
He  stood  there,  thinking  it  all  over,  and  looking 
at  what  was  before  him :  the  half-starved  dog, 
the  fat  carcass,  and  the  empty  skull.  He  closed 
his  knife  and  put  it  away. 

"  'No,  girl,'  he  said  to  the  dog.  'I  'd  rather 
have  you  dead  than  be  a  different  kind  of  a 
dog  from  what  you  are.  You  could  have  killed 
a  sheep  yourself.  I  won't  make  you  a  sheep- 
killer.' 

"He  found  a  rusty  bit  in  the  manure  of  the 
place,  and  with  it  and  the  rope  he  made  a  good 
bridle.  He  threw  the  carcass  across  the  horse 's 
withers,  patted  the  collie's  head  again,  telling 
her  good-by,  and  mounted.  As  he  looked  back 
she  was  sitting  before  the  shed,  fluttering  her 
tail  and  looking  for  an  invitation  to  follow  him. 
But  as  she  started  to  come  he  ordered  her  back. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  261 

"On  a  fence  by  the  road  there  sat  a  row  of 
buzzards.  They  did  not  move  as  he  reined  up 
and  stopped  before  them— they  just  sat  there 
and  stunk  and  had  their  lawful  rights.  He 
cast  down  the  sheep  before  them ;  they  stooped 
down  in  the  air,  with  hanging  talons ;  and  when 
Bill  saw  that  the  sheep  was  where  it  would 
never  tempt  the  dog,  he  spoke  to  Lady  and 
gave  her  the  rein.  At  a  farm-house  he  had 
breakfast.  The  woman  gave  him  a  wash-basin 
before  a  cracked  looking-glass.  He  washed  his 
hands  of  the  smell  of  sheep,  splashed  his 
face  in  the  cool  water,  and  combed  his  hair  and 
brushed  it  down  smooth.  And  when  he  had 
eaten  he  told  exactly  what  had  happened,  and 
made  arrangements  to  have  the  man  go  out  and 
feed  the  dog  and  tend  to  the  sheep.  With  a 
package  of  provisions  tied  to  the  strings  of  a 
new  saddle,  he  touched  Lady  with  the  quirt,  and 
then  bade  good-by  to  that  part  of  the  country 
and  to  sheep.  He  rode  south,  intending  to 
work  his  way  along  to  San  Antonio— and 
maybe  Galveston. ' ' 

"D'  ye  know,"  remarked  Finerty,  "I  was 
thinkin'  all  th'  time  mabby  th'  felly  Bill  was 
crazy,  or  w'u'd  get  to  thinkin'  mabby  he  was 
crazy. ' ' 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  could  have  happened 


262  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

that  way  with  some.  But  it  was  n't  that  way 
with  Bill.  You  would  n't  catch  Bill  getting 
a  loose  head  on  his  shoulders— although  I  Ve 
seen  his  feelings  worked  up  at  times.  And  he 
was  a  square  partner,  Bill  was. ' ' 

"Be  hivins!"  exclaimed  Finerty,  grabbing 
out  his  alarming  watch,  "  't  is  time  f  r  Num- 
ber Twinty-f our ! "  And  as  he  walked  across 
the  tracks  he  soliloquized:  "I  am  gettin'  aw- 
ful intherested  to  be  nearly  late.  I  '11  have  him 
tell  th'  lavin's  av  it  this  night." 


CHAPTER  XXI 


N  this  auspicious  Sunday  Mi- 
chael arose  at  the  usual  hour 
in  the  afternoon.  When  they 
heard  his  footsteps  in  the  mid- 
dle room,  Mrs.  Finerty  and 
Agnes  scurried  about,  hustling 
things  into  the  bottom  of  the  "safe";  for 
while  the  party  was  ostensibly  a  mutual  affair, 
in  celebration  of  Agnes 's  going  away  to  college, 
each  had  planned  to  take  the  other  with  some 
sort  of  surprise.  Agnes  had  thought  to  pay 
tribute  to  her  father  in  a  most  fashionable  man- 
ner: she  would  have  a  "shower."  At  an  op- 
portune moment  the  pulling  of  a  string  would 
open  a  box  above  the  door,  and  then  a  wind- 
fall of  socks,  blue,  pink,  and  green,  would  heap 
honors  upon  his  head.  And  this  all  required 
so  much  secrecy  that  when  Finerty  sat  down 
to  be  fed,  neither  Agnes  nor  Mrs.  Finerty  men- 
tioned such  a  thing  as  a  party  at  all;  and, 
strange  to  say,  even  Finerty  did  not  broach  the 
subject. 

263 


264  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"Go  on,  Michael;  we  are  now  ready,"  said 
Mrs.  Finerty,  seating  herself  before  him  at  the 
table. 

"Go  on  wid  what?"  said  Finerty. 

"Why,  wid  th'  shtory." 

"Oh,  wid  th'  shtory,"— as  if  he  had  forgot- 
ten it  entirely.  He  set  forth  the  facts  of  the 
blacksmith's  adventures  as  far  as  Stumpy  had 
passed  them  down  to  him  from  the  sand-pile. 
Then  he  suddenly  stopped. 

"Kape  on,  Michael,"  said  Mrs.  Finerty. 

"'Tis  all  I  know." 

"Aw,  go  on,  pa-a-a-a,"  coaxed  Agnes. 

' '  I  will  not.    'T  is  all  there  is  av  it. ' ' 

"  An '  no  ind  to  it  V '  said  Mrs.  Finerty.  "  D ' 
ye  know  how  it  kem  out?  I  'm  that  afraid 
something  might  happen  t'  him." 

"How  do  I  know,  whin  th'  ind  is  n't  in  th' 
shtory?  Ye  can  hear  th'  lavin's  av  it  from 
Shtoompy  to-night.  If  ye  won't  let  us  be 
movin'  a  fut  befure  twelve,  we  must  be  doin' 
something.  D'  ye  say  Dinnis  won't  be  to 
it?" 

"He  is  n't  back  to  th'  station  yet,  Michael." 
Mrs.  Finerty  said  this  in  evident  disappoint- 
ment. Although  he  was  a  rather  far-fetched 
relative  who  had  seldom  crossed  their  thresh- 
old, she  had  hoped  to  have  his  official  presence 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  265 

to  honor  her  before  the  Dugans.  And,  besides, 
there  was  no  telling  how  the  story  might  turn 
out,  and  what  might  happen  when  Dennis 
should  hear  it.  She  was  already  beginning  to 
wish  that  the  blacksmith  had  escaped  to  some 
far-away  country  and  made  his  peace  with  the 
church  and  reformed. 

As  the  time  for  the  party  drew  near,  Mrs. 
Finerty,  in  her  best  "allapacky,"  and  Agnes, 
done  up  in  white  and  tied  about  with  an  ex- 
travagance of  pink  sash,  turned  their  attention 
to  Michael,  who  had  been  making  such  poor 
headway  with  his  toilet  that  he  was  beginning 
to  find  fault  with  the  ways  of  man.  They  went 
at  him  front  and  rear.  Michael  stood  making 
a  face  at  the  ceiling  while  Mrs.  Finerty  worked 
at  his  throat  and  got  in  the  collar-button,  which 
he  declared  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  force 
through  her  starching;  and  Agnes  hurriedly 
sewed  a  button  on  behind  to  "kape  th'  sus- 
pinders  down.'*  Michael  even  stood  docile— 
although  he  made  several  threats  to  reform  the 
fashions— while  Mrs.  Finerty  brought  forth 
the  beautiful  "made"  tie.  And  she,  after  ob- 
serving the  workings  of  the  wire  hook  on  it, 
hung  it  on  the  collar-button,  and  then  set  it 
straight  with  his  shirt-front,  as  she  would  hang 
a  picture.  Finerty  was  "all  done";  and  now, 


266  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

in  full  panoply,  he  turned  a  critical  eye  on  Mrs. 
Finerty,  and  then  on  his  daughter. 

"Agnes,"  he  said,  "take  th'  goom  out  av 
yer  mouth.  Ye  mind  me  av  th '  goat. ' ' 

About  ten  o'clock  the  guests  began  to  ap- 
pear. Among  the  first  were  the  0  'Hagans  and 
the  Baffertys,  with  Sadie  0  'Neill  and  her  beau. 
And  then  Dugan,  with  his  wife,  in  all  the  flesh 
and  affluence  of  a  merchant.  Rochester  Bed, 
with  the  serious  professional  air  of  one  who 
was  to  exhibit  his  acquirements,  came  and  sat 
in  the  kitchen.  Almost  at  the  same  time  there 
appeared  young  Barney,  who  had  within  him 
a  fixed  determination  to  do  some  classic  clog- 
stepping  that  would  entirely  annul  the  "soft- 
shoe  work"  and  sand- jigging  of  the  agile 
Rochester.  The  two  competitors  gave  inspec- 
tion, betimes,  to  the  stove-board  that  was 
leaned  against  the  kitchen  wall  beside  a  bag  of 
sand  that  Finerty  had  brought  home  from  the 
chutes.  And  at  times  they  each  had  whispered 
conferences  with  Jerry  the  fiddler. 

As  the  company  gradually  gathered  about 
the  walls  of  the  middle  room,  Finerty  sat  with 
his  visage  set  in  the  plaster  of  Paris  of  for- 
mality—so close  was  the  watch  he  had  to  keep 
on  himself  in  order  not  to  violate  any  of  his 
wife's  sacred  injunctions. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  267 

When,  at  last,  the  Rooneys,  with  their  fol- 
lowing, had  arrived  in  a  body  and  settled  them- 
selves in  the  hum  of  social  intercourse,  Mrs. 
Finerty,  hurrying  through  the  middle  room, 
stopped  short  in  surprise  to  see  Pap  Smith 
comporting  himself  in  a  corner,  decently 
groomed,  and  talking  on  lofty  topics  with  com- 
pany manners,— acting,  for  all  the  world,  as 
if  he  were  an  invited  guest.  Agnes  herself  had 
shown  him  a  seat,  being  entirely  taken  in  by 
the  cheerful  equanimity  with  which  he  arrived 
at  the  door.  Michael  and  Mrs.  Finerty  held  a 
consultation  in  the  kitchen,  and  were  entirely 
nonplussed  for  a  social  precedent  in  such  a  case. 

"'T  w'u'd  be  hard,"  said  Finerty,  "to  be 
puttin'  a  man  out  that  has  come  to  th'  house 
sociable-like." 

"An'  Dugan  that  intherested  talkin'  to  him 
about  th'  business  owMuke,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Finerty.  "An'  th'  ould  man  comin'  back  at 
him  like  he  was  used  t'  his  bread  butthered  on 
both  sides.  I  doubt  if  Dugan  knows  he  's  a 
thramp. ' ' 

"Then  't  is  not  us  will  be  tellin'  him,"  said 
Finerty.  "  Ye  can  lave  it  to  th '  ould  man.  He 
has  th '  illigant  nerve. ' ' 

And  now,  everything  being  settled,  Finerty 
went  into  the  middle  room  to  "take  charge." 


268  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"Ladies  an'  gintlemin,"  he  said,  "wan  av 
th'  byes  I  have  f  r  to  be  enthertainin'  ye  has 
not  come  yet.  An'  bein'  as  't  is  a  little  while 
befure  we  can  shtart  th'  dancin'  off,— for  me 
wife  won't  be  havin'  it  roonin'  on  Soonda' 
time,— we  might  as  well  be  tellin'  shtories.  An' 
now,  who  is  't  will  begin?" 

"Finerty,  Finerty— I  nominate  Finerty," 
said  Dugan. 

"Yes,  pa-a-a-a,"  put  in  Agnes.  "Tell  them 
about  you  and  the  general."  This  was  sec- 
onded and  passed  unanimously. 


CHAPTER  XXII 


|ELL,"  said  Finerty,  leaning 
over,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  "I  don't  mind  thryin'. 
Mabby  't  will  make  ye  laugh. 
Ye  see,  't  was  airly  in  th '  dark 
av  th'  mornin',  an'  me  sittin' 
on  me  bench  befure  the  sand-house,  when  the 
Creole  Belle  comes  down  the  river,  wid  the 
pilot  borin'  a  long  hole  in  the  night  wid  his 
electricity  machine.  He  was  jerkin'  a  spot  of 
daylight  back  and  forth  on  the  wather  a  mile 
at  a  joomp.  He  took  a  feel  of  the  Memphis 
bluff,  and  then,  wid  wan  sweep  of  his  arm  from 
Tinnissee  to  Arkansaw,  he  began  pokin'  in  the 
low  woods  on  the  other  side  of  the  Mississippi. 
'He  must  be  careful,'  says  I,  'not  to  be  runnin' 
his  boat  into  the  woods  after  the  high  wather. ' 
"  'T  was  then  the  light  lit  on  a  sight  that  near 
made  me  lose  me  pipe  in  surprise.  For  there, 
shtandin'  on  the  other  side,  in  all  his  fine 
clothes,  was  me  gineral.  And  there  he  was 


270  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

wavin'  his  silver  sword  and  joompin'  round  in 
the  shpot  of  light  across  the  wather  a  mile 
away,  like  a  picther  man  in  a  kittenyscope. 
And  I  c'u'd  hardly  believe  me  sinses  that  a 
man  of  his  intilligince  w'u'd  be  shtandin'  all 
night  on  the  very  shpot  I  left  him  the  afternoon 
befure.  'From  the  way  he  prances  around,' 
says  I,  '  't  is  plain  to  be  seen  there  is  nothin ' 
holdin '  him. ' 

"When  the  Creole  Belle  had  made  the  land- 
in'  ferninst  me  and  tied  up  at  the  wharf -boat, 
I  ran  aboord  of  her  and  up  intil  the  pilot-house. 
And  I  says  to  the  pilot,  'W'u'd  ye  do  me  the 
favor  to  squirt  yer  light  over  into  Arkansaw 
again  ?  I  want  to  find  a  man.  Ye  '11  know  him 
by  the  silver  sword  and  the  fine  millinery  he  's 
wearin'  on  his  head.  And  w'u'd  ye  kape  it 
playin'  on  him  till  I  row  over  and  see  what 
meanin'  he  's  thryin'  to  impart  to  me?' 

*  *  '  Who  is  he  and  what  is  he  ? '  says  the  pilot. 

' '  *  Sure  't  is  my  gineral, '  says  I. 

"  'Gineral  of  what?  And  does  he  think  the 
Creole  Belle  is  a  ferry?'  says  he. 

' '  '  He  don 't  call  himself  a  gineral  of  anything 
at  all ;  he  says  he  's  a  mason.  And  sure  he  is 
an  illigant  wan,  wid  the  gold  hod-cushions  on 
his  shoulders.  'T  is  them  he  wears  when  he 
goes  to  bury  a  member  of  his  union.  There  was 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  271 

a  car-load  of  the  likes  of  him  wint  through, 
goin '  up  North  from  where  they  had  been  down 
below  at  a  conclavity.  An'  't  was  him  that 
marched  by  himself  up  the  post-office  bluff  to 
look  away  into  Arkansaw,  where  he  knows 
some  people,  till  the  injine  went  away  and  left 
him.  An'  he  has  n't  a  stitch  till  his  back  but 
the  sowldier  clothes  an'  th'  buckskin  apron.' 

"Wid  that,  the  pilot  shtuck  his  beam  out  into 
the  night  again  and  began  shweepin '  it  up  and 
down  the  Arkansaw  shore.  And  wanst  I  seen 
the  gineral  go  through  it  like  the  flight  av  a 
glorified  angel,  shinin'  up  all  at  wanst  and 
goin'  out  suddent-like. 

"  '  I  think  I  have  him  located, '  says  the  pilot, 
pullin'  th'  shtring  aisy  and  makin'  the  elec- 
tricity crawl  along  be  inches.  Wid  a  little  fine 
jigglin'  he  put  the  shpot  on  him,  and  there  was 
the  gineral  shtandin ',  wid  his  hand  in  his  chist, 
like  the  statoo  of  the  man  discoverin'  the  Mis- 
sissippi and  shinin'  like  an  altarpiece. 

* '  *  What  do  ye  say  he  's  shtandin '  out  in  the 
night  like  that  for,  makin'  a  tabloo  of  himself? ' 
says  the  pilot. 

11  'Ye  can  search  me,'  says  I.  'He  wint 
over  there  to  drop  in  on  the  Widdy  Biggs, 
whose  departed  was  a  frind  of  his.  Maybe  the 
widdy  was  not  at  home— but  why  he  's  out  like 


272  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

that  all  night,  I  dunno.  Will  ye  light  the  way 
for  me  while  I  go  across  and  find  out!  An'  if 
he  moves  away,  will  ye  keep  it  on  him!' 

1 1  '  That  I  will, '  says  the  pilot.  '  I  '11  give  him 
leave  to  move  a  mile,  and  I  '11  only  budge  this 
four  inches.' 

"  'And  ye  might  give  me  a  wink  of  it,  whin 
I  'm  rowin'  across,  to  let  him  see  I  'm  comin'.' 

"And  so  he  did;  and  the  gineral  didn't 
move  a  fut. 

"  'Hello,  gineral,'  says  I,  as  I  pulled  the 
boat  up  f erninst  him.  '  Was  n  't  the  widdy  at 
home?' 

"  'How  d'ye  suppose  I  know?'  says  he,  in- 
sulted-like.  "T  is  a  fine  place  ye  put  me  on. 
I  thought  ye  knew  the  counthry. ' 

"  'And  so  I  do,'  says  I;  'and  the  deppo  is 
right  over  there  where  I  told  ye.' 

"  'And  a  roarin'  mill-race  betwixt  me  and  it. 
Ye  have  put  me  on  an  island,'  says  he. 

"  '  It  can 't  be ;  't  is  impossible, '  says  I.  Wid 
that,  I  walked  along  the  wather  edge  of  the  low, 
spongy  sand;  and  befure  long  I  came  till 
where  I  started  from. 

"  "T  is  a  cut-off  ye  're  on',  says  I. 

"  'And  what  's  a  cut-off?'  says  he. 

"  "T  is  what  they  call  a  cashay, ' 1  says  I. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  273 

"  'And  what 's  a  cashay?'  says  he. 

' '  '  'T  is  an  island, '  says  I ;  "t  is  a  new  island 
that  's  just  been  discovered.  And  ye  're  the 
wan  that  's  discovered  it.  'T  was  made  by  the 
high  wather.' 

"  'I  'm  sorry  now  I  didn't  wait  for  the 
ferry  instid  of  thrustin'  to  the  likes  of  ye. 
'T  is  a  fine  sight  I  've  been  makin'  of  mesilf, 
not  to  say  annything  about  shtandin '  up  in  the 
wet  all  night,'  says  he. 

"  'Sure  ye  did  look  fine  and  ye  did  yerself 
credit,'  says  I;  'and  I  tould  ye  the  truth  that 
the  ferry  is  n't  runnin'.  'T  is  too  wet  in  the 
woods  for  a  boat  to  come  over.  Get  into  me 
shkiff  and  I  '11  put  ye  on  rale  land. ' 

"And  so  we  did. 

"  'And  are  ye  sure,  now,  this  is  land?'  says 
he  as  he  got  out  of  the  boat,  jinglin'  himself. 
'I  'm  thinkin'  ye  had  better  go  wid  me  a  piece, 
and  then  I  '11  be  sure.' 

"  'That  I  will,'  says  I;  'I  '11  go  to  the  plan- 
tation itself  wid  ye  if  the  road  is  out  of  wather 
yet.' 

"  'Out  of  wather?'  says  he. 

' ' '  Yis, '  says  I ;  "t  is  that  way  sometimes ; 
and  when  the  rise  is  goin'  down  ye  're  like  to 
find  that  'tis  land  where  'tis  wather,  and  wa- 
ther where  't  is  land. ' 


274  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"Wid  that,  the  light  that  had  been  kapin' 
us  company  took  wan  lape  across  the  Missis- 
sippi and  shut  itself  off ;  and  then  I  heard  him 
clankin'  round  amongst  the  trees  wid  his 
sword. 

"  'Don't  be  handlin'  the  trees,'  says  I;  'for 
I  doubt  if  they  're  dry  yet.  And  don't  be 
leanin'  against  them,  or  they  '11  be  comin'  off 
on  yer  clothes.' 

"  'I  'm  lookin'  for  a  place  to  sit  and  rest 
meself,'  says  he. 

"  'Don't  do  that,'  says  I;  'for  't  is  mud. 
Ye  'd  have  to  be  roostin'  in  the  high  branches 
like  a  chicken.  Ye  'd  betther  come  out  of  the 
dark  into  the  boat.  We  '11  give  the  sun  time 
to  come  up.  'T  is  only  dry  here  on  the 
wather. ' 

"So  he  came  aboord  and  we  sat  till  't  was 
daylight.  When  'twas  mornin'  we  found  what 
was  left  of  the  road,  and  we  went  along,  pullin' 
our  feet  out  of  the  mud.  The  trees  were  all 
painted  yellow  wid  it,  just  so  high ;  and  it  was 
pillars  of  mud  holdin'  up  the  woods  as  far  as 
ye  c'u'd  see,  for  the  wather  had  been  deeper 
nor  a  man's  head.  And  a  flock  of  gnats  gath- 
ered round  each  of  our  bare  faces,  perchin '  on 
the  air  as  numerous  as  coarse  shmoke  and  fol- 
lyin'  along  ahead  of  us.  The  gineral  wint 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  275 

along,  shooin '  at  them  wid  the  white  feather  on 
his  hat. 

' '  "T is  no  use  to  do  that, '  says  I ;  'for  they 
're  like  a  ghost:  ye  can  pass  a  club  through 
them  and  still  they  '11  be  there. ' 

"  'I  wish  the  dom  things  w'u'd  get  onto  me 
where  I  c'u'd  smash  them,  or  go  away  intirely, 
wan  of  the  two, '  says  he,  gettin '  vexed-like. 

'  *  "T  would  be  an  improvement, '  says  I ;  *  but 
ye  '11  find  't  is  their  way.  Whin  a  gnat  gets  a 
place  for  himself  on  the  air  ye  can't  knock  him 
off  of  it,  so  ye  might  as  well  be  savin'  yer  fine 
feather. ' 

"  "Tis  dom  annoyin'  they  are,'  says  he. 

"  '  'Tis  that,'  says  I.  « 'Tis  hard  they  are 
on  the  poor  dumb  farm-animals  that  can  nay- 
ther  shmoke  a  pipe  nor  cover  themselves  wid 
mud  like  a  hog;  and  after  the  spring  rise  like 
this  many  a  cattle  is  worrid  till  he  dies  of  dis- 
thraction. ' 

"But  still  he  went  along,  dustin'  the  air  wid 
his  feather  and  chuggin'  at  the  heels  and 
blowin'  like  a  shteam-man  till  he  was  red  in 
the  face.  We  were  goin '  along  like  that  when 
we  come  to  a  serious-minded  sort  of  a  mule 
shtandin'  by  the  roadside.  We  shtopped  be- 
fure  him,  waitin '  for  some  look  of  recognition. 
But  he  kept  on  lookin '  off  the  length  of  his  nose 


276  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

and  shtandin'  careless-like,  lettin'  his  ears 
hang  any  way  at  all.  And  divil  a  care  had  he 
that  he  was  shtandin'  in  the  prisince  of  a  hu- 
man bein'.  And  the  mule  reminded  the  gineral 
that  he  was  very  tired. 

"  "T  is  a  pity  the  mule  wasn't  goin'  our 
way, '  says  I.  '  And,  though  ye  'd  have  no  busi- 
ness a-ridin'  him,  I  'm  thinkin',  if  ye  'd  sit  on 
his  back,  I  'd  lead  the  two  of  yees  along. ' 

"And  so  we  did. 

' '  And  whin  I  saw,  af ther  a  while,  how  meek 
was  the  mule,  I  says:  *  Gineral,  't  will  be  no 
harm  at  all.  Whin  ye  get  to  where  ye  're  goin ' 
I  '11  ride  him  back  an'  shtand  him  in  th'  thracks 
where  we  found  him.  'T  will  be  no  harm  done 
thin.'  No  more  had  I  th'  words  out  of  me 
mouth  than  the  mule  shtopped  short  and  began 
lettin'  out  a  volley  of  kicks  behind  him,  firing 
the  mud  off  his  hoofs  so  quick  that  befure  ye 
c'u'd  say  Jack  Eobinson  he  had  mud  stickin' 
against  all  the  trees  in  gobs  that  'u'd  fill  a 
flower-pot.  When  the  mule  began  usin'  his 
feet  to  shtand  on  again,  the  gineral  sat  like  a 
frozen  man,  lookin'  at  me  in  an  unearthly  way 
that  I  c'u'd  see  no  sinse  in  at  all. 

"  'What  's  ailin'  ye,  and  why  don't  ye  move 
or  shpake?  Do  ye  want  to  shtay  on  or  do  ye 
want  to  get  off? '  says  I. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  277 

"'Move/'  says  he,  rollin'  his  eyeballs,  and 
never  shtirrin'.  'D'  ye  know,  man,  I  'm  think- 
in','  says  he— 'I  believe,'  says  he,  'that  I  'm 
shtuck  to  the  mule.' 

' '  Wid  that,  he  moved  his  arm  and  pulled  the 
leg  of  his  pants  careful  wid  his  fingers.  And 
it  lifted  the  hair  of  the  mule  like  a  porous 
plaster.  I  made  a  move  to  peel  him  off,  but  he 
yelled  me  back  like  an  Indian. 

"  'Don't  pull  a  hair  of  him,'  says  he. '  'T  was 
that  made  him  go  off  bef ure. ' 

"  '  'T  is  a  kind  of  varnish, '  says  I,  '  they 
put  on  the  cattle  in  these  parts,  I  Ve  heerd 
tell.' 

' '  '  We  're  glued  together !  Is  it  a  thrick  they 
have?'  says  he. 

"  "T  is  put  on  him  out  of  mercy,'  says  I, 
'and  dried  medium  hard  so  that  th'  insecks 
can't  get  their  bills  intil  him.  Wid  that  on 
him,  the  gnats  don't  know  is  he  a  mule  or  a 
bedstead.  But  't  is  aisy  to  tell  that  the  man 
who  did  the  job  was  no  painter,  for  ye  can 
see  't  is  too  thick  an'  tacky'— puttin'  me  fin- 
ger on  till  it  shtuck,  and  then  pullin'  it  off  and 
causin'  the  mule  to  make  a  feint  wid  his  hind 
leg. 

"  'Don't  be  thriflin'  wid  him.  Let  's  think 
what  we  're  goin'  to  do,'  says  he. 


278  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'There  's  nothin'  to  be  done  at  all  but  to 
git  off  and  lave  him,  for  a  little  varnish  won't 
hold  a  sthrong  man  like  ye.  But  let  me  give 
ye  warnin ',  whin  ye  shtart,  not  to  be  gettin '  off 
part  at  a  time.  Ye  must  be  quicker  nor  he  is,' 
says  I. 

"  'Hold  him  tight  be  th'  halther,'  says  he; 
*  for  if  he  should  go  annywheres  he  'd  be  takin ' 
me  along  wid  him.'  And  as  we  had  a  quiet 
spell,  breakin'  the  news  till  ourselves,  and  him 
bringin'  his  mind  t'  th'  deed,  I  began  to  have 
me  doubts  of  how  th'  mule  w'u'd  take  anny- 
thing  like  that. 

1 l  l  Ready,  now ;  't  is  goin '  to  hurt  him, '  says 
he,  takin'  a  breath,  like  he  was  goin'  to  dive, 
an'  knottin'  his  fists.  He  gave  a  fling  to  his 
legs,  like  a  joompin'-jack;  but  he  had  no  more 
than  ripped  loose  half  the  legs  of  his  pants 
whin  the  baste  wint  shtraight  up  from  the 
ground  wid  a  jolt  that  shlapped  th'  gineral 
back  onto  him  tighter  than  ever.  An'  th'  mule 
only  kem  down  long  enough  to  get  his  fore  feet 
to  earth  so  that  he  c'u'd  shtart  a  boxin '-match 
wid  th'  air  behind  him.  I  held  his  head,  like 
the  butt  of  a  Gatlin'  gun,  till  he  was  through 
wid  th '  first  round.  Thin  for  wan  inshtant  he 
laid  off  workin'  behind  and  kem  down  an* 
shtood  wid  his  ears  laid  back  like  a  jack-rabbit, 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  279 

and  his  teeth  grinnin'  and  the  divil  lookin'  out 
av  his  eye.  Th'  gineral  was  that  set  in  th'  face 
that  I  c'u'd  see  his  mad  was  up. 

"  'I  '11  get  off  the  dom  mule  this  time,  if  I 
have  to  scalp  the  back  av  him, '  says  he,  shtrik- 
in'  his  hand  wid  his  own  fisht. 

"I  seen  him  thry  it,  and  I  seen  no  more. 
What  happened  till  me,  I  dunno.  But  when  I 
kem  to  a  shtop,  afther  rollin'  in  the  mud,  I  sat 
up,  an '  there  I  saw  the  mule  lapin '  away  down 
th'  road,  wid  th'  gineral  shtickin'  to  him  like 
ye  'd  see  a  monkey  ridin'  a  greyhound  in  th' 
circus. 

"  *I  wonder  is  the  mule  goin'  home  till  his 
folks?'  says  I  to  meself.  'If  he  does,  't  will  be 
a  fine  bird  they  '11  think  they  Ve  caught.'  An' 
to  satisfy  meself  what  harm  'd  come  to  him, 
I  hurried  along  in  the  mule's  footsteps. 

"As  they  come  to  a  rise  in  th'  ground  the 
mule  switched  off  th'  road  wid  a  jerk  of  his 
tail,  and  shtepped  over  a  five-barred  gate  into 
th'  barn-yard  av  a  house  wid  white  pillars  on 
th'  porch.  Whin  I  kem  up  and  looked  through 
th'  gate  th'  mule  had  shtopped  himself  in  th' 
middle  of  the  barn-yard.  A  black  dawg  wid  a 
bay  voice  was  sittin '  down  wid  his  nose  pointed 
up  at  th'  shky,  mournin'  their  arrival  in  an 
indless  voice.  Wid  that,  a  fine  body  of  a  wo- 


280  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

man  come  hastenin'  out,  folleyed  by  a  naygur 
mammy  an'  a  fair-haired  girl. 

11  'Well,  if  it  is  n't  Misther  Ta-a-a-aggart ! ' 
says  she,  lookin'  at  him  an'  holdin'  up  her  two 
hands,  like  givin'  a  blessin'.  'Well,  Misther 
Ta-a-a-aggart ! ' 

"The  gineral  saluted  her  wid  th'  white  fea- 
ther, an'  thin  laid  his  hat  on  th'  buckskin 
apron  befure  him.  I  seen  his  lips  move,  but 
what  he  got  out  av  him  I  dunno  for  the  howlin ' 
of  the  dawg. 

"  'Will  ye  keep  shtill  and  let  a  body  have  a 
word ! '  says  she  to  the  dawg.  An '  she  led  him 
away  wid  wan  av  the  ears  that  was  hangin' 
down  his  back. 

"  'You,  mammy,  go  and  put  the  kettle  on,' 
says  she.  'An'  you,  Mary,  to  th'  field  and  tell 
John  we  '11  need  him  t'  go  for  a  valise.'  And 
as  she  was  comin'  back  afther  puttin'  the  dawg 
away,  I  lept  over  th'  fince  and  went  in. 

"  'Well,  Misther  Ta-a-a-aggart,'  she  wint  on 
again,  'I  'm  that  surprised!  Dismount  this  in- 
stant and  come  in.' 

"He  sat  pethrified  to  the  mule,  wid  his  eyes 
lookin'  off  that  far  ye  'd  think  he  was  expectin' 
something  out  av  the  shky. 

"  'Excuse  me,  ma'am,'  says  I,  'but  is  it  your 
mule?' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  281 

"'Gracious  me!'  says  she,  h'istin'  up  her 
jeweled  white  hands  again;  *  't  is  "Rooshy." 
An'  me  that  taken  up  I  did  n't  notice  it!  I  'm 
so  delighted ! ' 

"  'I  'm  glad  to  hear  he  's  yours, '  says  I ; ' for 
maybe  ye  'd  have  some  influence  wid  him.  An' 
ye  're  no  more  surprised  than  we  are,  for  't  was 
him  showed  us  th '  way.  An '  we  might  as  well 
tell  it  till  ye  now— seem'  ye  '11  have  to  know 
it  annyway, '  says  I,  shtoppin '  a  while  to  break 
it  till  her  aisy. 

"  'What  is  it?  Don't  be  kapin'  me  in  sus- 
pinse, '  says  she.  *  Has  annything  happened  f ' 

"  '  'T  is  nothin'  to  speak  av,'  says  I,  'except 
that  your  mule  is  a  little  shticky.  An '  we  don 't 
want  to  be  dishmountin'  too  quick-like,  seein' 
't  is  your  mule,  for  fear  't  will  hurt  his  hair. ' 

"She  tuk  it  in  wid  a  gasp.  And  the  gineral 
kem  to  wid  a  blush.  She  put  her  finger  till 
th'  mule's  shoulder,  and  he  spurned  her  away 
wid  a  wiggle  of  his  hide.  Then  she  flusthered 
hither  and  thither,  blamin'  herself  for  it  all, 
an'  fidgetin'  in  th'  air  wid  her  fine  hands. 

"  'Calm  yerself,  calm  yerself,  Misthress 
Biggs, '  says  the  gineral.  '  'T  is  no  harm  at 
all, '  says  he,  f orcin '  the  words  out  wid  a  smile 
that  w'u'd  pacify  a  lion. 

"  '  'T  is  no  use  gettin'  excited,'  says  I.    'But 


282  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

if  ye  have  somethin'  that  th'  mule  w'u'd  like 
to  ate,  't  w'u'd  occupy  his  mind.  An'  have 
ye  also  a  rope?' 

"I  led  thim  away  t'  th'  barn.  An'  there  I 
had  the  lucky  idee.  Temptin'  the  baste  wid 
a  wisp  of  hay,  I  got  him  to  put  his  head  be- 
chune  the  stanchion-beams  where  they  lock 
the  cows'  heads  in  t'  milk  thim;  and  I  closed 
the  scantlin'  behind  his  jaw,  so  that  he 
would  n't  be  goin'  away  widout  pullin'  his 
head  from  its  socket.  Thin  I  tied  his  leg  to 
himself  and  gave  the  gineral  th'  word.  'Now 
ye  can  dishmount, '  says  I. 

"The  mule  was  that  mad  about  it  that  he 
brayed  like  a  dhry  poomp,  hollerin'  out  wid 
one  breath,  and  hollerin'  back  into  himsilf  wid 
the  nixt.  An'  whin  th'  gineral  had  both  legs 
hangin'  over  wan  side  av  th'  mule,  th'  sate 
av  him  let  go  and  dhropped  him  intil  the  arms 
of  the  widdy. 

* '  *  Dear  me,  I  'm  so  relieved ! '  says  she,  faint- 
like. 

"  "T  is  a  relief,'  says  I.  'An'  I  'm  glad 
they  're  parted. '  Wid  that,  they  both  wint  off 
and  left  me,  th'  gineral  walkin'  wide  be  way 
of  not  intherferin'  wid  himself.  I  took  the 
riggin'  off  the  mule  and  departed.  An'  in 
half  an  hour  I  was  paddlin'  me  way  back  to 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  283 

Tinnissee  to  sit  down  and  have  a  rist  in 
p  'ace. 

"  'T  was  th'  lasht  I  thought  I  'd  be  hearin' 
av  it.  But  't  was  only  the  beginnin'.  Wan 
mornin ',  whin  I  was  sittin '  on  me  binch  bef ure 
th'  sand-house,  afther  coalin'  up  Number 
Twinty-nine  and  puttin'  the  sand  intil  her, 
along  comes  Mary  Ann  McBride,  that  works 
bechune  times  for  th'  widdy.  She  had  her 
arms  filled  wid  groceries  that  she  'd  be  takin' 
over  on  th '  ferry,  an '  she  shtopped  on  th '  levee 
waitin '  to  be  coaxed  into  havin '  a  word  wid  the 
likes  av  me,  an'  watchin'  for  th'  clue  of  a 
chanst. 

11  'Good  mornin',  Mary!'  says  I.  'An'  how 
is  th'  mule  gettin'  alawng?' 

"  'Quite  well,  thank  ye  kindly,'  says  she. 
'An'howisyersilfT 

"  'I  've  me  health, '  says  I. 

"  "T  is  too  bad,'  says  she,  'that  a  mule 
was  n't  some  kind  av  a  Christian  animal,  that 
he  c'u'd  appriciate  all  that  '11  be  done  for  him, 
an'  him  livin'  among  the  cows,  an'  bein'  shtall- 
fed  all  th'  time.  The  widdy  gives  him  credit 
for  it  all.' 

"  'For  all  av  what?'  says  I. 

"  'Hush,  they  're  engaged— t'  be  marrid!' 
says  she  in  a  whisper.  'An'  't  is  nothin'  all  day 


284  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

but  what  '11  Misther  Taggart  have,  an'  what 
might  he  want.  An'  't  is  atin'  lettuce  three 
times  a  day  we  are,  because  he  likes  th'  green 
taste  av  thim. ' 

"Wid  that,  she  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside 
me,  wid  the  baskets  and  bundles  around  her, 
while  she  w'u'd  be  waitin'  for  th'  ferry,  and 
she  tould  me  it  all,  throttin '  a  bag  av  sugar  on 
her  knee. 

"  '  Afther  ye  left,'  says  she,  'an'  it  kem  to  th' 
widdy's  ears  that  his  citizen's  clothes  was 
thravelin'  home  alone  on  th'  thrain,  she  got  out 
the  best  suit  that  th'  late  Misther  Biggs  left 
behind  him,  and  she  made  him  put  thim  on, 
so  that  he  'd  not  be  shtickin'  to  things.  'T  was 
thin  I  saw  she  began  to  act  more  free  an'  home- 
like till  him  than  iver— an'  ye  can't  blame  her 
at  all,  for  't  is  an  illigant,  well-to-do  bachelor 
man  he  is,  wid  none  to  care  for  him  but  the 
widdies  an'  orphans.  She  c'u'd  niver  be  done 
blamin '  hersilf  for  the  shp  'ilin '  av  his  regayly 
clothes.  An'  she  wint  at  thim  wid  her  buke  av 
* '  Three  Thousand  Receipts, ' '  and  she  thried  as 
manny  as  they  w'u'd  shtand,  till  she  had  thim 
ruined  intirely.  An'  I  says  to  mesilf,  he  '11  not 
be  lavin'  now  for  a  while,  for  he  has  no  clothes 
av  his  own,  an '  he  'd  have  no  right  to  be  goin ' 
away  in  the  relics  av  Misther  Biggs.  An'  I 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  285 

c'u'd  see  he  made  up  his  mind  till  it,  for  he 
continted  himself  as  tame  as  a  marrid  man. 

"  '  'T  was  two  nights  afther  that  I  was  sit- 
tin'  in  the  parlor  so  's  to  be  lettin'  thim  have 
th'  porch  t'  thimsilves.  An'  I  was  hangin'  me 
nose  out  av  the  front  windy  to  get  a  whiff  av 
the  smudge  fire  that  was  builded  to  kape  the 
gnats  away.  An'  av  coorse  I  c'u'd  not  help 
hearin'  that  they  wor  whisperin'  saycrits,  al- 
though I  could  n't  tell  for  th'  life  av  me  what 
't  was  they  wor  sayin'.  But  av  a  sudden  I 
heerd  her  whimperin'  an'  snufflin'  an'  shtop- 
pin'  herself  up  wid  her  han 'kerchief ,  and  at 
that  he  gave  a  move  that  made  the  legs  av  his 
chair  stutter  on  th '  boards. 

"  '  "What  is  it  that  's  ailin'  ye,  Missus 
Biggs?"  says  he,  soft-like. 

"'"'T  is  nothin'  at  all-nothin'  at  all- 
't  will  pass  in  a  minute, ' '  says  she.  "  'T  is  only 
that  ye  look  so  natural— ye  look  so  natural/' 
says  she,  all  in  a  blurt.  It  escaped  from  her  all 
at  wanst,  as  she  was  takin'  the  han 'kerchief 
from  her  mouth  to  say  somethin'  else.  Wid 
that,  he  began  shpakin'  kind  till  her  an'  con- 
solin'  her  on  the  shoulder.  An'  befure  long 
she  was  cryin '  on  him  comfortable-like,  wid  th ' 
han 'kerchief  spread  like  a  bib  on  his  chist  to 
not  be  s  'ilin '  the  coat. 


286  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'I  was  that  disthracted  thryin'  to  get  an  eye 
and  an  ear  to  the  crack  av  th '  shutter  at  wanst 
—an',  d'  ye  know,  't  is  onpossible.  An'  be- 
twixt choosin'  between  thim,  I  made  up  me 
mind  there  'd  be  more  to  hear  than  to  see.  But 
jist  thin  the  big-throated  hound  saw  the  moon, 
and  began  to  ullagoo  at  it  for  the  night.  An' 
I  says  to  mesilf,  "I  will  get  him  away  from 
there,  so  that  he  won't  be  intherruptin '  me." 
An'  afther  a  minute  I  wint  out  on  the  porch 
as  bould  an'  accidental  as  ye  plase,  an'  laid 
hould  av  him  for  to  haul  him  away.  An'  the 
widdy  says  to  me,  flirtin'  her  han 'kerchief  be 
way  av  usin'  it,  "That  is  right,  Mary  Ann; 
take  him  away.  He  can  see  the  moon  behind 
the  barn  as  well  as  he  can  here. ' ' 

"  'Whin  I  was  through  tyin'  him  at  a  dis- 
tance wid  a  piece  av  clothes-line  I  kem  through 
the  kitchen  an '  med  me  way  aisy-like  to  th '  par- 
lor again,  an'  put  me  ear  till  th'  shutter.  For 
a  bit  av  a  while  there  was  no  word  at  all ;  't  was 
as  quiet  outside  as  forty  wimmen  kapin'  shtill 
at  wanst.  But  widout  kapin'  me  waitin'  too 
long  she  began  chattin'  away,  wid  her  cryin'  all 
over,  an'  tellin'  what  they  'd  put  intil  the  hun- 
dherd-acre  field,  an'  what  intil  the  tin-acre 
patch,  an '  how  they  'd  change  the  house  inside, 
an'  put  in  a  closet  for  his  regayly  clothes. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  287 

Thin  she  kem  to  a  shtoppin  '-place.  I  put  me 
eye  to  th'  crack,  an'  they  wor  sittin'  close  to- 
gether, an'  holdin'  on  like  two  in  a  shwing. 
'T  was  thin  I  knew  that  it  had  taken  place,— 
what  I  had  suspected.' 

"  '  'T  is  the  suspected  always  happens,' 
says  I. 

"  'Yis;  but  to  think  av  it  happenin'  whin  I 
was  away  wid  that  nuisance  av  a  dawg!  An' 
now  't  is  all  over  but  gettin'  ready.  He  ,'s 
goin'  to  take  her  away  to  Brighton  Beach. 
Where  that  is,  I  dunno. ' 

* '  '  'T  is  a  place  where  ladies  go  in  shwim- 
min','  says  I. 

"  '  D '  ye  mane  it ! '  says  Mary  Ann,  not  know- 
in  '  what  to  do  wid  her  hands.  *  Th '  ide-e-e-a ! 
She  tould  me  that  same,  an'  I  thought  she  was 
jokin'  me.  She  's  makin'  a  little  allapacky 
shkirt  that  dooes  n't  come  till  her  knees— an' 
barely  that.  T'  think  av  it!  'T  is  little  we 
know ! ' 

"Wid  that,  th'  ferry  came,  and  Mary  Ann 
hurrid  away,  lavin'  a  big  orange  beside  me. 
I  sat  till  it  would  be  time  to  coal  up  Number 
Thirty  and  put  th'  sand  intil  her,  shmokin' 
me  pipe,  and  thinkin'  av  the  ways  av  th' 
worruld. ' ' 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

|HEN  the  applause  at  Finerty's 
effort  had  subsided,  Stumpy 
arrived,  and  all  eyes  turned 
to  the  door  as  he  punctuated 
his  way  across  the  kitchen  and 
appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
middle  room.  Agnes  gave  him  a  chair. 

"An'  now,  ladies  an'  gintlemin,"  Finerty 
resumed,  "we  will  have  th'  nixt  shtory.  'T  is  a 
shtory  av  a  blackshmith.  The  blackshmith  was 
workin'  on  a  boat  in  New  Orleans,  an'  wan 
time  he  had  a  fight  wid  th'  bo's'n  av  th'  nixt 
boat.  An'  he  w'u'd  'a'  bate  th'  life  out  av 
him,  too,  only  that  th'  bo's'n  got  away.  An' 
he  wint  afther  him  that  mad  that  th'  captain 
had  to  be  ordherin'  th'  crew,  'All  hands  on 
deck,'  t'  unload  th'  blackshmith  off  th'  ship— 
wid  th'  shmith  shakin'  his  fist  back  at  the  ship 
wid  wan  hand,  an'  makin'  throuble  for  th'  sail- 
ors wid  th'  other,  an'  sayin'  he  w'u'd  make  an 
anvil  out  av  th'  bo's'n's  face  whin  he  caught 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  289 

him  bein'  sint  out  to  th'  grocery.  Th'  nixt 
mornin'  they  found  nothin'  where  th'  bo's'n 
had  been  shlapin'  in  th'  galluses  av  th'  boat 
but  th'  torn  pieces  av  th'  bloody  shirt  av  him. 
An'  th'  marks  av  blood  wint  over  th'  side  av 
th'  ship  an'  into  th'  river  where  he  had  been 
put  away  to  float  off  to  the  Gulf  av  Mexico. 
"Th'  polis  got  th'  blackshmith.  He  had  th' 
felly's  brass-handled  knife  in  his  pocket;  an' 
th'  worst  av  it  was,  he  had  th'  sailor's  lucky 
penny,  that  he  w'u'd  not  'a'  taken  a  dollar  for. 
For  't  was  a  quare  wan,  wid  th'  likes  av  three 
legs  shtamped  on  it,  that  th'  sailor  w'u'd  not 
'a'  parted  with  for  th'  bad  luck  av  it.  Th' 
blackshmith  w'u'd  have  th'  polis  believe  he 
did  n't  know  how  it  got  into  his  pocket  at  all. 
Whin  they  had  him  in  jail  for  it  he  got  away, 
an'  all  th'  newspapers  hollerin'  bloody  mur- 
ther.  An'  from  that  time  he  did  nothin'  but 
bate  out  th'  polis  runnin'  from  here  till  there. 
He  med  f rinds  wid  Misther  Sidney— 't  is  him 
that  's  been  inthrojooced  till  ye  over  there— 
an'  he  took  him  along.  But,  ye  see,  Misther 
Sidney  did  n't  belave  he  did  it,  because  th' 
blackshmith  tould  him  so.  Av  coorse  th'  three- 
legged  penny  proved  it  in  th'  way  it  could  not 
be  different,  but  Misther  Sidney— that  has  only 
wan  leg— thought  he  did  n't,  an'  he  shtuck  by 


290  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

him.  But  wan  time  they  got  parted,  wid  th' 
blackshmith  havin'  to  ride  away  shwift  on  a 
black  horse.  An'  now  we  will  have  Misther 
Sidney,  whose  name  is  Shtoompy,  tellin'  some 
more  about  it.  But  ye  must  n't  be  thinkin'  he 
had  anny thing  t'  do  wid  th'  murther." 

As  Finerty  sat  down  there  was  a  murmur 
among  the  guests;  and  Stumpy,  being  pro- 
vided with  the  highest  chair,  began  the  story. 

"Well,  I  ran  across  Bill,  about  a  year  after- 
ward, in  New  Orleans,  going  up  Royal  Street. ' ' 

"Wha-a-at!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Finerty.  "I 
thought  that  was  th'  place  he  was  thryin'  to 
kape  away  from. ' ' 

"Bill  thought  so,  too,"  replied  Stumpy. 
"When  I  asked  him  what  he  came  back  there 
for,  he  said  he  did  n't  know.  But  he  had  got  so 
tired  of  the  prairie  country  that  he  felt  home- 
sick to  hear  the  boats  whistle  and  see  the  river 
running  by.  And  the  more  he  traveled  the 
nearer  he  got  to  the  river,  till  finally  he  found 
himself  right  back  in  New  Orleans  again. 
Anyway,  Bill  was  the  kind  that  the  nearer 
he  got  to  trouble  the  less  he  worried  about  it. 
So  I  guess  he  came  back  there  to  give  his  mind 
a  rest  where  he  would  n't  be  running  away. 
Bill  and  me  kept  ourselves  along  the  French- 
town  levee,  a  mile  or  so  south  of  where  the 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  291 

river-boats  landed.  And  we  only  made  our- 
selves sociable  among  the  boats  from  foreign 
parts.  Bill  got  a  job  now  and  then  on  a  brig 
or  a  bark,  blacksmithing  or  doing  any  kind 
of  repair  work,  and  keeping  me  for  a  partner 
the  same  as  always.  We  got  along  pretty  well 
that  way. 

"One  evening,  when  we  were  passing  a 
sailors'  saloon,  we  noticed  that  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  fun  going  on  inside.  And  not 
having  much  amusement  ourselves,  being  as 
we  were  afraid  to  go  down  town,  we  went  in 
to  see  it.  There  was  a  bulldog  making  fun  for 
twenty  or  thirty  men.  The  fellow  who  owned 
the  dog  would  put  a  rolled  newspaper  under 
the  back  of  the  dog's  collar  so  that  it  stuck 
out  over  his  head.  Then  the  bulldog  would 
throw  himself  around  in  a  way  that  was  sur- 
prising, jumping  four  or  five  feet  in  the  air  and 
twisting  and  rolling  over  on  the  floor  until  he 
knocked  the  newspaper  out  and  got  it  in  his 
mouth.  Then  he  would  wait  for  it  to  be  done 
again.  And  the  sailors,  standing  round  in  a 
circle,  would  laugh  and  roar  and -clap  their 
hands  on  their  legs  to  see  the  way  he  went  at  it. 

"While  we  were  being  amused,  a  broad  fel- 
low, in  an  open  shirt  with  a  trapeze-lady  tat- 
tooed on  his  breast-bone,  clapped  Bill  on  the 


292  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

back  and  hailed  him  hearty.  Bill  turned  round 
of  a  sudden,  and  who  was  it  but  the  bo's'n!" 

1  *  D '  ye  mane  't  was  Tiffin  ? ' '  exclaimed  Fin- 
erty,  straightening  up. 

"Wha-at— th'  sailor!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fin- 
erty.  ' « I  thought  ye  had  him  kilt ! ' ' 

' '  No ;  I  only  said  it  looked  like  he  was  killed. 
Bill  was  so  surprised  he  could  hardly  believe 
it  himself  till  he  found  how  it  had  all  happened. 
But  he  was  n't  as  surprised  as  Tiffin  was  to 
come  back  and  find  they  thought  he  was  mur- 
dered. But  Bill  did  n't  let  him  know  about  it 
right  away— for  he  would  have  to  go  and  take 
oath  before  a  lot  of  lawyers  that  he  was  n't 
dead. 

"As  I  was  saying,  it  was  Tiffin.  Bill  just 
stared  at  him.  And  Tiffin,  who  was  about  half 
seas  over  with  drink,  stood  holding  his  big, 
hairy  hand  out,  and  smiling  in  a  cheap  sort 
of  way,  the  way  a  fellow  does  when  he  finds  he 
has  put  himself  forward  with  a  man  that  ain  't 
going  to  be  friends  with  him.  But  Bill  sud- 
denly clapped  hands  with  him,  and  took  him  by 
the  shoulder  as  hearty  as  any  sailor  could 
expect. 

"  'Well,  I  '11  be  hanged-I  '11  be  blowed, 
Tiffin ! '  said  Bill,  not  being  able  to  get  out  what 
was  in  him. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  293 

* '  '  Ho-ho ! '  bellows  Tiffin,  getting  more 
friendly  than  ever,  'I  thought  ye  did  n't  know 
me  right  away.  You  was  n't  holding  any 
grudge  about  the  little  tap  I  gave  you  with  the 
monkey,  was  you?  Why,  the  belt  you  gave  me 
in  the  face  was  the  best  thing  ever  happened 
to  me.  Come  along  and  have  a  drink  on  it. ' 

1 l  Tiffin  pulled  a  roll  of  money  from  his  pocket 
and  rolled  away  on  his  sea-legs  toward  the  bar, 
with  Bill  holding  him  tight  by  the  arm.  And 
while  the  whisky  was  coming  Bill  kept  putting 
one  question  after  another  that  Tiffin  did  n't 
seem  to  get  the  drift  of  at  all.  The  bo's'n 
would  go  off  into  stories  about  his  voyages  and 
the  captain  he  used  to  sail  with. 

11  'They  thought  you  was—'  But  Bill 
stopped  himself  suddenly,  and  swallowed  back 
the  word.  For  he  saw  that  Tiffin  did  n  't  know 
anything  about  his  being  dead  at  all.  And 
Bill  thought  it  best  not  to  say  anything  about 
it  till  he  found  what  Tiffin  had  to  say. 

"Tiffin  was  very  talkative.  'If  ye  did  n't 
swamp  me  with  questions  maybe  I  could  spin 
me  yarn.  An'  where  did  you  pick  up  the  boy 
with  the  one  mast?'  said  Tiffin,  looking  at  me. 

"  'He  *b  a  partner  of  mine.  He  '11  drink 
with  us— but  he  does  n't  talk  much,'  said  Bill, 
giving  me  his  meaning  with  a  look. 


294  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

Bill  ordered  a  bottle  of  brandy  in  the  middle 
of  the  table,  and  we  sat  down.  Tiffin  was 
pleased  with  that,  and  to  find  Bill  so  interested 
in  him  and  so  willing  to  listen  to  his  yarns. 

*  *  '  Ho-ho ! '  he  roared,  slapping  the  table ; 
'I  Ve  been  ashore  only  two  hours  from  Havre, 
an'  here  I  Ve  met  a  chummy!  We  '11  have  a 
hell  of  a  time !  It  's  the  first  time  I  Ve  made 
this  port  since  the  night  I  shipped  for  Liver- 
pool. And  if  it  was  n't  for  the  belt  I  got  in 
the  face,  I  'd  'a'  stuck  with  that  damn  Yankee 
captain,  Amos  Cleft.  And  I  'd  'a '  been  shiver- 
ing another  voyage  on  a  load  of  ice.  She  was 
loading  with  ice  again. ' 

"  'And  what  did  my  hitting  you  have  to  do 
with  it  ?  Tell  us  how  you  came  to  leave, '  said 
Bill. 

11  'I  '11  spin  you  the  yarn,'  said  Tiffin,  hold- 
ing his  head  back  and  tossing  down  a  glass 
of  brandy  without  touching  his  lips.  *  'T  was 
this  way.  That  day  I  was  painting  on  top 
of  the  galley,  and  it  started  to  rain.  I  was  mad. 
And  I  was  right,  too.  Let  me  tell  you  about 
all  I  'd  been  going  through  with  before  that, 
and  see  if  I  was  n't  right.  When  I  first 
shipped  on  the  Lion  we  cleared  for  Jamaica 
with  a  load  of  ice— shivering  all  the  way.  In 
the  fo'c'sle  it  was  like  Labrador,  and  down 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  295 

in  the  cabin  it  was  like  being  a  corpse  in  a  cof- 
fin. The  only  spell  of  comfort  you  could  get 
was  laying  aloft— and  Amos  Cleft  down  be- 
low swearing  out  of  Yankee  cussedness  that 
it  was  n't  cold.  He  was  that  kind. 

' '  *  Then  we  cleared  for  Buenos  Ayres.  There 
Cleft  had  a  choice  of  cargoes,  and  he  took 
hides.  They  offered  him  more  money  for  tak- 
ing the  hides,  and  at  first  he  was  n't  going  to 
do  it— seeing  they  wanted  him  to.  He  was  that 
kind.  But  the  captain's  wife— and  she  was  a 
fine  little  lady  that  did  n't  know  how  to  take 
him  except  strokin'  him  with  the  fur,  thinking 
he  would  get  tame— she  says,  when  she  saw 
he  was  hesitating, ' '  I  don 't  believe  I  would  take 
hides  if  I  was  you,  Amos. ' ' 

"  'So  he  took  'em.  All  you  needed  to  start 
Cleft  any  way  at  all  was  to  blow  a  head  wind. 

"  'Well,  you  know  what  a  cargo  of  hides  is. 
We  no  more  than  got  them  stowed  in  the  Lion 
and  cleared  for  New  Orleans  than  she  started 
to  hatch  worms.  You  could  n't  lay  down  for 
a  rest  in  the  fo'c'sle  but  what  a  worm  would 
drop  in  your  eye;  you  could  n't  go  forward 
with  stepping  on  worms;  you  could  n't  go  up 
to  the  cross-trees  but  what  a  worm  would  be 
up  there  waitin'  for  ye.  Well,  I  could  'a'  put 
up  with  that— I  Ve  gone  through  a  good  deal 


296  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

and  put  up  with  it,  with  a  little  grog.  But 
when  it  come  to  pickin'  a  worm  off  yer  salt- 
horse,  and  having  a  worm  sittin'  on  the  hard- 
tack ye  was  going  to  eat,  it  'd  make  me  mad. 
There  was  n  't  any  privacy  from  the  worms.  I 
got  so  I  hated  every  one  of  them.  And  then, 
when  we  got  to  New  Orleans,  she  started  taking 
on  ice  again. 

"  'That  was  the  way  I  was  feeling  at  the 
time  we  was  lying  next  to  the  Betsy,  where  you 
was  working.  I  was  drinking  pretty  steady, 
trying  to  drown  them  out  of  my  mind;  and 
sometimes  I  thought  they  was  turning  into 
snakes.  That  's  how  I  come  to  hit  you  the  tap 
with  the  monkey— that  and  the  rain  coming 
down  on  my  painting.  And,  as  I  was  saying, 
there  she  was  loading  with  ice  again. 

"  'Well,  that  night,  after  you  hit  me  the  belt, 
I  woke  up  and  found  my  nose  had  sprung  a 
leak.  I  opened  my  bag  and  took  out  a  shirt 
and  held  it  to  my  face,  thinking  I  could  swab 
it  up.  But  the  shirt  got  soaked,  and  it  was  the 
only  cotton  one  I  had.  And  not  wanting  to 
bloody  the  galley  and  have  the  cook  after  me 
for  sleeping  there,  I  went  and  leaned  over  the 
labbard-rail  and  let  it  drip  into  the  river  on 
the  offshore  side.  After  a  while  I  saw  that 
if  I  let  it  run  like  that  I  'd  have  meself  bailed 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  297 

out  dry,  and  I  'd  better  go  and  find  a  drug-store 
where  they  'd  have  something  to  calk  the  leak. 
But  I  did  n't  want  to  dirty  the  deck  going 
ashore,  for  we  had  been  holystoning  all  day, 
till  it  was  white  and  clean.  Blood  's  hard  to 
get  out,  and  I  did  n't  want  to  sprinkle  it  clear 
across  decks  and  down  the  waist  to  the  gang- 
way. "I  '11  be  damned  if  I  will!"  says  I.  So 
I  went  up  the  labbard  and  around  the  bows  and 
down  the  stabbard,  holding  my  head  overboard 
all  the  way— up  the  fo'c'sle  and  all— and  I  went 
ashore.  And  I  did  n't  get  a  drop  on  deck  but 
what  I  leaked  from  the  door  of  the  galley  to 
the  labbard-rail.  The  man  at  the  drug-store 
got  it  stopped,  and  he  gave  me  a  glass  of  whisky 
to  get  me  under  sail  again.  Well,  you  know 
how  I  am,  Bill.  The  one  glass  put  me  on  that 
tack,  and  I  put  into  a  saloon.  And  the  few  I 
had  there  got  to  rilin'  up  the  grudges  I  had  in 
me  bilge  against  Captain  Cleft  and  the  brig 
Lion.  And  ye  know  how  I  am.  If  I  start  my 
drinks  with  a  joke,  it  keeps  getting  finer  wea- 
ther all  the  time;  and  if  I  start  out  with  a 
cloud  on  my  mind,  she  turns  into  a  black  squall. 
Whatever  I  start  the  drink  with,  it  keeps  put- 
ting on  the  same  cargo  right  along.  This  time 
I  had  my  mad  on  to  start— thinking  of  the  ice 
and  the  worms,  and  the  ice  again.  I  put  out 


298  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

of  that  groggery  five  or  six  times,  always  think- 
ing I  would  make  the  brig  Lion  on  the  next 
tack.  But  every  time  I  would  get  to  the  cor- 
ner my  mind  would  blow  a  contrary  wind,  and 
I  'd  put  back  again.  And  there  blew  in  my  old 
shipmate  Simpson,  who  was  having  his  last 
grog  before  they  weighed  anchor  for  Liver- 
pool with  a  cargo  of  cotton.  An'  he  says  to 
me:  ''We  're  short  a  hand;  come  to  Liverpool 
along  with  me."  An'  the  whisky  was  com- 
plaining to  me  about  the  ice  we  were  putting 
on  the  Lion,  and  I  says : ' '  Articles  or  no  articles, 
I  '11  be  no  boVn  along  with  Amos  Cleft." 
So  I  went  along  and  shipped.  An'  early  the 
next  morning  I  was  laying  low  behind  the  cap- 
stan as  we  dropped  down-river,  and  laughing 
to  myself  as  we  showed  our  stern  to  Cleft  and 
his  old  iceberg.' 

"Well,"  continued  Stumpy,  "when  the 
bo's'n  had  got  through  telling  the  story  to  Bill, 
he  tipped  the  bottle  and  poured  down  himself 
another  four  fingers  of  brandy.  He  had  emp- 
tied half  the  bottle  already— Bill  drinking  only 
a  little.  While  Tiffin  was  telling  it  Bill  would 
suddenly  straighten  up  every  once  in  a  while 
and  seem  on  the  point  of  saying  something ;  but 
he  would  stop  himself  and  keep  quiet  and  watch 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  299 

Tiffin  sharp.  I  could  see  that  Bill  was  doing 
some  lively  thinking;  and  it  was  easy  enough 
for  me  to  figure  out  that  Tiffin  was  going  to  be 
his  prisoner,  and  that  the  bo's'n  would  have 
a  harder  time  getting  away  from  Bill  than  if 
any  policeman  got  a  hold  of  him.  Bill  told 
me  afterward  that  he  did  n't  know  what  tan- 
trum the  brandy  might  take  inside  of  Tiffin, 
with  the  idea  of  leaving  the  saloon  and  going 
away  to  jail  with  him— and  the  bo's'n  only  two 
hours  ashore,  with  all  the  money  in  his  pocket. 
Bill  thought  at  times  that  he  would  tell  Tiffin 
what  had  happened,  and  then  if  he  did  n  't  want 
to  go  right  along  he  would  whip  him  senseless. 
But  he  wanted  to  take  him  in  good  shape  so 
that  he  could  tell  a  straight  story.  He  did  n't 
want  to  take  any  chances  of  fighting  and  get- 
ting the  job  miscarried. 

1  i  l  How  did  I  get  your  three-legged  piece  in 
my  pocket?'  said  Bill. 

''Tiffin  suddenly  started  up  from  his  chair 
and  leaned  over.  'I  'knew  ye  had  that  piece!' 
he  said,  bringing  his  fist  down  on  the  table. 
'I  had  to  give  a  fellow  in  Liverpool  a  dollar 
for  one  just  like  it.  But  it  's  my  own  I  want. 
It  's  my  lucky  piece.  You  can  have  the  other 
one,  Bill.'  Tiffin  laid  the  same  kind  of  a  coin 
on  the  table  and  held  his  hand  out. 


300  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'But  how  did  I  get  it?'  said  Bill. 

"  'Why,  you  got  it  this  way,'  said  Tiffin, 
feeling  in  his  pocket.  He  took  out  a  brass- 
handled  knife.  Then  he  picked  up  the  coin  and 
slipped  it  into  the  slot  of  the  knife.  'That  's 
how  you  got  it.  It  used  to  always  stick  in 
there;  and  many  a  time  I  nearly  lost  it  that 
way.  It  was  in  there  the  time  I  lent  you  the 
knife.  You  see,  I  had  to  get  myself  another 
knife,  too;  and  it  ain't  good  like  the  old  one. 
Give  me  my  knife,  too.  You  can  have  this  one, 
Bill.'  And  Tiffin  held  his  hand  out  again  for 
the  knife  and  the  coin. 

"  'Well,  I  'm  mighty  sorry,'  said  Bill— 
'I  'm  mighty  sorry  to  tell  you  that  the  police 
took  your  knife  and  coin.  When  they  saw 
the  blood  on  the  shirt  and  leading  over  the  rail 
they  thought  you  was  dead.  And  they  took 
your  things  away  from  me,  saying  I  had  no 
right  to  them.' 

"Tiffin  began  to  look  threatening.  'And 
that  was  my  lucky  coin.  I  have  n't  had  good 
luck  since  I  lost  it.  What  right  had  they  to 
take  it?'— suddenly  flaring  up.  'I  lent  it  to 
you.' 

"  'That  's  just  what  I  say,'  said  Bill,  bang- 
ing his  fist  down  on  the  table.  'They "said  you 
was  dead.  But  you  can  make  them  give  your 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  301 

things  back.  And  I  'd  do  it,  too— I  'd  make 
'em!' 

"  'Me  dead?  I  '11  show  'em  I  ain't  dead!' 
exclaimed  Tiffin,  banging  down  his  fist  just  the 
way  Bill  did. 

"  'That  's  what  I  say,'  said  Bill,  banging 
his  fist  down  again.  'And  if  they  did  n't  give 
it  back  to  me  I  'd  make  trouble.'  And  Bill 
hit  the  table  so  hard  it  made  it  jump  an  inch. 
'And  we  can  take  this  along.  It  belongs  to  us,' 
said  Bill,  putting  the  brandy  in  his  pocket  and 
turning  to  go.  'Come  'long,  chummy— I  '11 
tell  them  who  's  who.' 

"That  seemed  to  catch  the  bo's'n  right.  As 
Bill  said,  he  pulled  Tiffin  when  he  was  ripe. 

"I  stumped  along  behind  them  down  the 
street.  Sometimes  Tiffin  would  look  back  and 
call  me  the  'tender,'  and  laugh  loud  at  the 
joke.  And  Bill  would  laugh,  too.  They  went 
along  with  their  arms  locked  tight,  Tiffin  rolling 
along  on  his  sea-legs,  bumping  into  Bill  like 
a  coal-scow  in  choppy  weather,  and  singing 
a  sailor  song  over  and  over: 

" '  I  swam  from  Chesapeake  Bay 

To  the  middle  of  the  sea, 
Three  men  upon  my  back, 
And  nothing  hurt  me. 


302  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

I  met  a  shark  on  the  way, 
And  I  bunged  up  his  left  eye— 

Upon  my  word,  't  is  true ; 
An'  what  '11  ye  lay  it 's  a  lie  V 

"  'We  '11  show  'em  what  's  what,  Tiffin,'  said 
Bill. 
"  'We  '11  show  'em,  we  will,'  said  Tiffin. 

"  *  I  met  a  friend  in  the  East 

Who  had  no  window-sashes ; 
The  sunbeams  entered  the  room 
And  burned  his  wife  to  ashes. 
"  Sweep  out  your  mistress,"  said  he : 

"  Bring  wine  to  my  friend  and  I " — 
Upon  my  word,  't  is  true ; 

An'  what  '11  ye  lay  it 's  a  lie  V 

"  At  the  police  station  Tiffin  rolled  up  to  the 
sergeant's  desk  and  banged  his  fist  down,  de- 
manding his  knife  and  penny.  While  he  was 
arguing  and  explaining  what  his  property  was 
like,  Bill  gave  himself  up  in  the  captain 's  office, 
telling  what  had  happened,  and  demanding 
that  they  hold  Tiffin  for  a  witness.  When  they 
found  who  Bill  was,  it  did  n't  take  them  long 
to  put  him  behind  the  bars  again.  And  pretty 
soon  they  came  scuffling  along  with  Tiffin,  and 
turned  the  key  on  him  in  the  cell  next  to  Bill 's. 
After  the  police  captain  had  talked  to  me,  he 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  303 

made  up  his  mind  I  did  n't  have  much  to  do 
with  it ;  and  seeing  I  was  a  friend  of  Bill 's,  he 
let  me  visit  in  the  corridor. 

' '  I  stayed  there  a  while,  looking  into  the  cage 
at  Bill,  and  then  into  the  cage  at  Tiffin.  Bill 
was  sitting  on  a  bench,  contented  and  comfort- 
able, and  Tiffin  was  roaring  and  swearing  and 
trying  to  shake  the  door  down,  like  a  monkey 
rattling  a  cage.  And  when  the  policeman  came 
in  and  rapped  him  on  the  knuckle3  to  make  him 
keep  still,  it  made  the  bo 's  'n  madder  than  ever. 
But  when  he  found  he  could  n't  break  the  place 
down,  and  that  nobody  paid  any  attention  to 
him,  he  stopped  raging  and  looked  through  the 
bars  at  Bill.  For  he  thought  Bill  was  his  only 
friend,  seeing  he  was  in  a  cage,  too,  and  not 
knowing  how  it  came  about.  Tiffin  had  n't 
been  told.  He  had  made  such  a  rumpus  at  the 
sergeant's  desk  when  they  did  n't  give  him 
his  property  that  they  were  going  to  jug  him 
up  a  while,  anyway,  till  he  got  polite  and  sober. 
So  when  the  captain  said  he  was  wanted  for 
a  witness  they  threw  him  in  quick. 

"  'We  ain't  drunk-are  we,  Bill?'  said  Tif- 
fin, looking  through  the  bars. 

'  *  *  Of  course  we  ain  't, '  said  Bill. 

"  '  'Course  we  ain't.  Don't  the  lubbers  know 
I  've  been  walking  on  the  waves  for  two  months 


304  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

past?  An'  how  can  they  expect  me  to  walk 
straight  on  this  damn  level  place?  Then  why 
don't  they  give  me  the  knife  and  the  lucky 
piece  and  let  me  out?' 

"  'They  don't  want  you  for  being  drunk. 
They  think  I  killed  you  on  the  brig  Lion.' 

11  'Can't  they  see  I  'm  alive,  Bill?' 

"  'But  they  Ve  got  you  put  down  for  dead 
in  the  book.  And  they  won 't  rub  it  out  till  you 
prove  who  you  are  in  court.  The  sooner  you 
can  prove  that  you  are  Tiffin  that  was  bo 's  'n  of 
the  brig  Lion,  the  sooner  you  '11  get  out  of  here 
—along  with  the  piece  that  's  brought  us  so 
much  luck.' 

"Tiffin  put  his  forefinger  on  the  lady  on 
his  breast-bone  and  said:  'I  '11  show  'em  it  's 
me,  all  right— I  '11  show  'em  it  's  me.  They 
can  change  their  old  log-book.'  At  that  he 
grabbed  his  shirt  up  to  his  chin,  and  begap 
pointing  round  on  himself  with  his  forefinger. 
'There  's  the  stars  on  me  stomach— the  same 
as  on  the  ' '  three-star  Hennessy. ' '  And  here  's 
the  anchor  on  me  side.  An'  here  on  me  back,' 
he  said,  running  his  thumb  across  it,  'is  the 
spread-eagle,  with  the  words  under  it  in  Latin 
—which  I  could  never  read  backward  in  the 
looking-glass.  I  guess  they  can  see  that,  can't 
they?  Then  we  '11  go  out  and  have  a  drink.' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  305 

"He  blew  a  loud  blast  on  his  bo's'n's  whis- 
tle. And  when  the  keeper  came  to  find  what 
it  was,  Tiffin  pulled  up  his  shirt  again  and  said : 
'This  is  me,'  slapping  himself  on  the  chest. 
'  I  'm  Tiffin  that  was  boVn  on  the  brig  Lion. 
Tell  the  captain  to  fix  his  log  right  and  let  us 
out  of  here. ' 

"But  the  guard,  seeing  that  he  was  drunk, 
told  him  to  shut  up  and  walked  away.  Tiffin 
stood  and  watched  him  going  as  if  he  could  n  't 
believe  it,  and  it  was  all  a  dream ;  then  he  thrust 
his  arm  into  Bill's  cell  and  said,  'Give  us  the 
bottle  of  "three-star,"  Bill.  We  '11  have  a 
drink.' 

"  '  I  'm  sorry  to  say  I  have  n 't  got  it, '  said 
Bill.  '  They  took  it  away  from  me.  They  have 
that  with  the  knife  and  piece. ' 

"  'They  did!'  said  the  bo's'n,  with  his  eyes 
staring  wide  open.  And  when  he  had  taken 
time  to  believe  that  it  could  be  possible,  he 
rammed  his  fist  down  somewhere  inside  of  his 
belt  and  pulled  out  a  roll  of  money.  'Never 
mind,  Bill;  don't  get  discouraged.  I  've  got 
money,  an'  I  '11  show  'em.  We  '11  send  the  one- 
masted  boy  out  to  get  us  some.  An'  I  'd  like 
to  see  them  come  into  my  cage  and  take  it  away 
from  me!'  He  poked  a  bill  out  into  the  cor- 
ridor to  me.  I  picked  the  money  up  and  threw 


306  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

it  back  through  the  bars  again.  Then  I  turned 
away,  for  I  did  n't  like  to  see  him,  and  went 
and  talked  to  Bill  at  the  far  corner  of  his  cell. 

"Pretty  soon  we  heard  the  bo's'n  muttering 
and  preaching  to  himself. 

"  'It  's  the  money  that  's  worrying  him,' 
said  Bill.  'You  'd  better  go  and  buy  him  some- 
thing to  keep  him  still.  He  won't  be  contented 
till  he  's  rid  of  it.' 

* '  I  stepped  in  front  of  the  bo 's  'n  's  cell  again, 
and  he  had  his  money  all  spread  out  on  his 
bunk,  looking  it  over,  paper  and  silver  and 
nickels.  And  he  was  talking  to  it.  *  What  good 
are  you?  Ye  ain't  no  good.  We  're  ma- 
rooned. '  And  he  went  on  telling  himself  about 
being  only  two  hours  in  port  and  cast  away  like 
that. 

'.'  'I  can  go  and  get  you  something  else. 
What  would  you  like?'  said  I.  At  that  he 
looked  hopeful  at  me,  and  stood  thinking.  But 
he  did  n't  seem  to  know  the  name  of  anything 
except  drinks. 

"  'Maybe  I  could  go  to  the  bakery  and  get 
something  good  to  eat,'  said  I. 

"  'What  do  they  keep  there?'  he  asked. 

"  'They  have  cookies— and  lady-fingers— 
and  cream-puffs. ' 

"  'Which  costs  the  most?'  he  asked. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  307 

11  'Cream-puffs,'  said  I. 

"  'I  '11  try  some  of  them,'  he  said,  throwing 
out  a  bill. 

1 1  He  ate  the  two  I  brought  him,  and  he  took 
such  a  liking  to  them  that  he  threw  out  more 
money  and  told  me  to  get  a  dollar's  worth. 
'An'  I  '11  try  some  fingers.  Is  it  a  lady  that 
sells  'em  to  yet* 

"  'Yes,'  I  says. 

"  'Is  she  good-lookin'?' 

' '  '  She  is  pretty  good-looking, '  says  I. 

"  'Tell  her  to  keep  the  change.  An'  tell  her 
they  're  for  Tiffin  that  come  in  on  the  Grand 
Sachem  from  Havre.' 

"The  bakery  did  n't  have  as  many  as  he 
wanted,  but  I  brought  him  a  big  bagful  that 
had  to  be  shoved  hard  to  go  between  the  bars. 
That  kept  him  quiet  for  a  while.  But  when 
he  began  to  get  used  to  the  taste  of  them  he 
got  restless  again.  And  when  I  went  away 
for  the  night  he  was  walking  up  and  down  like 
a  caged  gorilla,  complaining  about  his  lot,  and 
foaming  at  the  mouth  with  cream-puffs. 

"They  kept  Bill  and  the  bo's'n  in  there  till 
the  court  had  some  time  to  spare ;  and  then  they 
held  an  inquest  over  Tiffin,  and  they  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  bo's'n  of  the  brig  Lion 
was  alive.  And  that  let  them  free.  But  the 


308  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

police  took  Bill  right  up  again  and  held  him  for 
breaking  jail ;  for  he  had  no  right  to  be  resist- 
ing the  law,  they  said,  whether  he  was  guilty  or 
innocent. 

"I  stayed  around  New  Orleans,  making  out 
the  best  I  could,  waiting  for  Bill  to  be  free 
again.  I  tried  a  good  many  places  to  get  a  job 
in  a  blacksmith-shop.  But  when  they  found 
I  had  n't  learned  the  trade  they  would  look  at 
my  wooden  leg,  and  that  would  be  the  end  of 
it.  I  laid  around  the  levee,  and  sometimes 
when  I  was  hungry  I  would  eat  fruit  that  was 
thrown  aside  from  the  West  Indies  fruit-boats. 
And  somewhere  I  drank  some  water  that  was  n  't 
healthy.  I  got  to  feeling  tired  out,  and  I  would 
lay  around  on  the  cotton-bales,  not  caring  to 
stir,  and  thinking  I  was  lazy.  And  when  I 
got  so  that  I  was  too  lazy  to  get  up  when  a 
policeman  told  me  to  move  on,  they  called  the 
wagon  and  took  me  off  to  a  hospital.  They 
said  I  had  some  kind  of  a  fever.  I  was  out 
of  my  head  quite  a  while.  And  when  I  did 
know  what  was  going  on,  I  did  n't  take  much 
interest  in  myself,  or  seem  to  care  what  would 
become  of  me.  But  when  I  got  so  strong  again 
that  I  could  stand  up  on  one  leg,  they  gave  me 
the  other  one  and  turned  me  loose. 

"I  went  around  to  the  police  station  to  find 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  309 

out  about  Bill,  and  they  told  me  lie  was  out  and 
gone  long  ago.  At  the  trial  they  only  gave 
him  a  short  sentence,  calling  the  case  off  after 
they  had  held  him  a  while  to  pay  him  for  what 
he  did  to  the  police.  The  police  did  n't  seem 
to  have  much  against  him.  They  told  me  he 
was  a  'good  one'— seeing  he  was  innocent. 
And  that  was  the  last  I  ever  heard  of  him  to 
this  minute.  If  Bill  had  known  I  was  in  the 
hospital  he  would  have  stuck  by  me.  He  was 
a  square  partner." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

JS  Stumpy 's  narrative  came  to 
an  end,  the  company,  which 
had  been  none  too  quiet  while 
he  was  telling  it,  broke  out  into 
a  babel  of  comment.  Mrs.  Fin- 
erty  and  Agnes  were  all  eyes 
and  "oh's."  "W'u'd  n't  that  bate  ye!"  said 
Finerty  to  Dugan.  "  D '  ye  know,  I  was  thinkin ' 
all  along  that  th'  blackshmith  was  lyin'  to  him 
about  not  doin'  it.  An'  I  'd  think  so  yet,  if 
't  was  n't  for  what  th'  sailor  bye  kem  back  an' 
said." 

Mrs.  Finerty  made  herself  heard  above  the 
chatter,  and  she  repeated  herself  until  they  all 
quieted  and  gave  her  the  precedence  of  conver- 
sation. 

"What  I  w'u'd  like  to  be  knowin',"  she  said 
to  Stumpy,  "is  th'  ind  av  it.  Which  wan  did 
he  get  marrid  to— was  it  Eva  or  Nellie?" 

"Why,  I  don't  know  as  he  ever  got  married 
at  all,"  said  Stumpy.  "I  don't  suppose  Bill 

310 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  311 

got  married.  But  lie  is  working  somewhere, 
and  wondering  what  became  of  me.  I  came 
through  Upton  last  September,  and  I  went  up 
to  the  place  after  dark  to  look  around.  The 
old  house  was  caved  in,  and  the  garden  was 
full  of  weeds.  There  were  strange  people 
around  the  girls'  house,  and  the  blacksmith- 
shop  was  empty.  When  I  saw  that  I  pulled 
out— for  they  would  n't  know  there  how  the 
murder  came  out,  and  I  was  afraid  Lant  Wil- 
liams and  the  rest  would  make  trouble  for  me." 

"An'  what  d'  ye  suppose  bekem  av  th'  dog 
he  had— an'  th'  black  horse— an'  what  did  th' 
bo's'ndoaftherthat?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Stumpy,  who  was 
plainly  at  the  end  of  his  story.  "I  suppose 
the  bo's'n  's  in  the  same  place  he  always  was— 
out  on  the  ocean  somewhere." 

*  "T  is  no  use  askin '  him  anny  more.  He  has 
sthruck  th'  bumper,"  said  Finerty.  "An'  if 
I  was  radin'  th'  likes  av  it  in  a  buke  I  w'u'd 
not  belave  it— if  't  was  n't  that  ye  can  see  't  is 
thrue." 

The  clock  stopped  further  comment  by 
twanging  out  the  first  stroke  of  twelve.  Mi- 
chael jumped  up  instantly,  and  Jerry  the  fid- 
dler struck  up  a  solo  from  Kerry— "The  Oy- 
ster Girl. ' '  As  Finerty  hurried  out  through  the 


312  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

kitchen  door  to  get  the  box  to  be  "callin'  off 
on, ' '  Agnes  pulled  the  string  and,  amid  a  volley 
of  cheers,  overwhelmed  him  with  a  shower  of 
color  that  made  him  ' '  think  th '  wall-paper  was 
fallin'  down,"— but  which,  on  cool  inspection, 
he  found  to  be  socks.  Then  hurriedly  gather- 
ing them  into  the  box  which  he  had  brought,  he 
turned  it  on  its  side  and  mounted  it. 

"A-l-1-1  take  yer  parthners  for  th'  dance. 
Wan  couple  over  there  in  th'  coorner,"  called 
Finerty,  taking  immediate  charge  of  the  fes- 
tivities in  a  manner  that  came  from  long  prac- 
tice in  being  "boss." 

"Wan  more  couple  over  there.— Here,  Du- 
gan;  't  is  here  ye  're  needed.— Right  over  here 
is  a  place  for  ye,  Barney ;  an '  ye  '11  find  worse 
dancers  nor  Agnes.— Good  fur  ye,  Rafferty, 
to  be  pickin'  out  Miss  O'Neill!— Some  wan 
lind  a  hand  here,  now." 

Mrs.  Finerty  had  taken  her  place  where  a  set 
had  been  started  by  Dugan  and  Mrs.  Halloran, 
and  she  stood  with  a  vacant  place  before  her. 
At  this  juncture  Pap  Smith  came  forward  in 
all  his  equanimity  and  placed  himself  opposite, 
with  a  courtly  bow,  to  which  Mrs.  Finerty  re- 
turned a  curtsey.  All  the  sets  were  quickly 
filled  but  one.  But  as  Finerty  orated  on  the 
exigencies  of  the  occasion,  Stumpy  gave  over 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  313 

to  the  persuasions  of  the  bouncing  Mrs.  Du- 
gan,  who  led  him  forward  with  a  twinkle  in  her 
eye  and  the  assurance  that  she  would  ' '  see  him 
through."  As  Jerry  shifted  to  the  lancers  the 
party  started  off,  and  soon  the  floor  of  the  mid- 
dle room  was  heaving  and  creaking  like  a  ship, 
with  Finerty  in  command. 

"  Salute  yer  parthners!  Salute  th'  coor- 
ners!  Balance,  all-av-jezl  First  foor-av-yez, 
f oorward  and  back !  Balance,  parthners !  All 
promenade  now." 

As  they  all  promenaded,  Finerty  stood  on 
his  box  and  gazed  in  rapture  on  what  he  had 
set  in  motion:  Pap  Smith,  in  courtly  convoy 
of  Mrs.  Finerty ;  Dugan  and  Mrs.  Halloran,  fat 
and  easy;  Mrs.  Dugan,  beaming  and  marking 
time  with  Stumpy ;  Barney  and  Agnes,  in  mu- 
tual admiration,  with  Agnes  the  most  resplen- 
dent of  them  all,  and  chewing  her  gum  again, 
in  rhythm  with  the  fiddle.  Finerty  paused  so 
long  that  they  overdid  it,  and  he  had  to  call 
them  all  to  time:  "Shtop  promenadinM  La- 
a-a-dies,  change!  Gr-r-r-rand  sashay!  Alle- 
man'liftl" 

The  jollification  being  thus  thrown  wide 
open  by  Finerty  at  the  stroke  of  the  clock,  the 
glory  of  it  went  on  through  unnoticeable  hours 
with  "jiggin'  an'  reelin'  an'  singin'." 


314  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

The  refreshments  were  a  grand  success,  es- 
pecially with  the  hungry  Rochester  in  the 
kitchen,  who  ate  all  the  cold  meat  and  then  sat 
in  ignorant  hope  that  there  might  be  boiled 
potatoes  and  pie.  Nothing  marred  the  func- 
tion, except  an  accident  in  the  second  quadrille. 
Pap  Smith  was  "  balancing"  in  dangerous 
proximity  to  the  steps  of  the  middle  room, 
when  he  went  too  far  back  and  tumbled  into 
the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Finerty  was  given  such  a 
shock  that  she  ran  forward  with  her  hands 
clasped. 

"Are  ye  hurted,  Misther  Shmith?" 
Mr.  Smith  promptly  arose  and  bowed.  "I 
just  thought  I  'd  drop  out  into  the  kitchen  a 
moment,  Mrs.  Finerty."  And  then  the  unctu- 
ous sojourner  began  "balancing"  again  as  if 
nothing  had  occurred. 


was  already  venturing  over  the  edge 
of  another  day  when  the  guests,  all  uncon- 
quered,  sat  about  the  middle  room  and  chat- 
ted as  they  waited  for  the  final  contest  between 
Young  Barney  and  Rochester.  While  the  stove- 
board  was  being  brought  in  again  and  the 
necessary  whispered  confidences  with  Jerry 
were  being  had,  Dugan,  who  had  been  much 
interested  in  Stumpy  's  tale,  came  and  sat  be- 
side him  for  a  serious  word  or  two. 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  315 

"And  ye  say  that  ye  thry  to  get  work  some- 
times !" 

"Oh,  I  get  jobs  all  the  time,  but  not  at 
steady  work  like  blacksmithing.  I  used  to 
ask  for  that  once  in  a  while,  but  they  would  n  't 
want  a  stiff-legged  man.  It  don't  look  so 
good." 

"Why  don't  ye  go  down  to  th'  Vulcan  place 
and  thry?  Maybe  Armsthrong  w'u'd  find  a 
place  for  ye." 

"Armstrong?"  exclaimed  Stumpy,  coming 
to  sudden  attention.  "What  is  his  first 
name  ? ' ' 

"Well,  now,  I  don't  know— I  don't  know 
him  to  shpake  to.  I  think  't  is  William— yis, 
'tis  William." 

"Where  is  it?" 

" 'T  is  three  shquares  down  that  way,  an' 
thin  wan  turn  to  yer  right  an'  't  is  a  shquare 
an 'a  half-" 

The  most  sensational  surprise  of  Finerty's 
party  was  the  manner  in  which  Stumpy  hopped 
out  of  it,  using  his  timber  leg  but  three  times 
in  going  through  the  middle  room,  down  the 
steps,  and  out  of  the  kitchen.  A  number  of  the 
guests  went  out  on  the  stoop  instantly  to  see 
what  had  happened,  and  the  other  guests  came 
and  followed  the  more  curious  ones  to  the  front 
gate.  The  entire  personnel  of  Finerty's  party 


316  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

stood  speechless  at  the  gate,  watching  him,  a 
block  away,  hopping  twice  with  his  good  leg 
to  one  step  with  his  wooden  one— which  was 
his  swiftest  method  of  locomotion.  They  were 
at  a  loss  to  account  for  it ;  and  Dugan  was  busy 
protesting,  in  the  face  of  his  wife 's  accusations, 
that  he  was  in  no  wise  to  blame  for  it. 

On  the  next  evening— a  mild  evening  in  early 
spring— Mrs.  Michael  Finerty  came  down  the 
tracks  of  the  Memphis  "yards,"  bearing  on  her 
arm  Michael's  big,  bright  dinner-pail,  which 
winked  even  more  familiarly  at  the  switch- 
lights  as  it  passed.  For  Michael's  pail,  as 
remarked  in  the  beginning,  was  destined  to 
shine  at  night.  And  again  she  was  bound  for 
the  little  sand-house;  for  Michael  had  slept  so 
late,  in  consequence  of  the  festivities  of  the 
night  before,  that  he  had  barely  time  to  jump 
into  his  clothes  and  "take  a  bite"  before  he 
hurried  away  without  waiting  for  his  bucket  to 
be  filled.  And  there,  sitting  on  the  bench  out- 
side, enjoying  the  climate  that  had  come  into 
its  own  after  the  blizzard,  were  Michael  and 
the  one-legged  man,  busily  talking  together. 

"Well,  Marg'ret,"  said  Michael,  "th'  bye 
is  goin'  t'  get  a  new  leg.  An'  't  will  be  no 
wooden  leg,  but  't  is  goin'  to  be  an  ar-ti-ficial 
wan.  'T  is  like  thim  ye  see  pitchers  av  in  th' 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  317 

railroad  magazines.  Halloran's  fireman  has 
wan.  'T  is  th'  leg  he  shwings  on  whin  he 
throws  th'  coal,  an'  he  w'u'd  not  thrade  it  for 
th'  wan  he  lost,  for  he  can  put  in  twelve  ton 
befure  he  begins  to  feel  it.  An'  since  he  is 
firm'  th'  ould  battle-ship  he  says  he  wishes  he 
had  an  ar-ti-ficial  body,  for  't  'u'd  take  iron 
an'  shteel  to  shtand  it." 

"A  boughten  leg!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Finerty. 
"An'  d'  ye  know  they  cost  a  fortune  av 
money?" 

"Sit  down,  Marg'ret,"  said  Finerty,  setting 
his  bucket  on  the  ground,  and  offering  her  the 
seat  that  his  dinner  had  occupied— "sit  down 
now,  an'  ye  can  hear  th'  rist  av  th'  shtory. 
Tell  it  till  her,  Shtumpy." 

"Well,"  began  Stumpy,  "Mr.  Dugan  asked 
me  why  I  did  n't  get  a  job  from  Armstrong  at 
the  Vulcan." 

"He  thought  't  was  Bill,"  broke  in  Finerty, 
"f  'r  his  right  name  was  that." 

"So  I  hurried  down  there  to  see,"  contin- 
ued Stumpy.  "But  't  was  so  early  in  the 
morning  that  the  big  double  doors  were  closed, 
and  there  was  no  sound  inside.  I  looked 
through  the  crack  between  the  doors,  and  it 
was  all  dark  and  still ;  but  when  I  got  the  smell 
of  the  iron  it  seemed  I  could  almost  see  Bill 


318  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

working  at  the  anvil.  So  I  stood  there  a  while, 
with  my  nose  at  the  crack,  breathing  it  in. 
Then  I  went  across  the  road  and  sat  down  on 
the  grass  of  the  bluff  to  wait.  It  was  all  quiet 
as  church.  After  a  while  a  baker's  cart  began 
sounding  on  the  stones  in  the  distance  and  clat- 
tered past,  with  a  dog  trotting  under  the  axle ; 
then  it  seemed  quieter  than  ever,  and  I  looked 
down  at  the  big  river  going  by  without  a  sound, 
and  I  imagined  I  could  see  it  flow.  I  never 
heard  it  so  quiet  as  it  was  this  morning.  So 
every  once  in  a  while  I  would  read  the  front 
of  the  Vulcan  again,  all  painted  over  in  black 
and  white,  and  saying:  'Wm.  Armstrong,  Ma- 
chine Blacksmithing  and  General  Repairing.' 
Then  the  Creole  Belle  came  down  the  river,  and 
blew  the  siren  whistle;  and  it  seemed  like  a 
horse  whinnying  with  gladness  to  see  the  city 
again,  and  trying  to  wake  it  up.  After  a  while 
a  man  in  a  blue  shirt  came  along.  He  stopped 
right  at  the  bolts  of  the  big  doors  and  threw 
them  open.  But  it  was  n't  Bill.  I  sat  mighty 
disappointed  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  decided 
I  might  as  well  go  over  and  have  him  tell  it  to 
me.  But  before  I  got  across  the  man  came  out 
with  a  bucket  in  his  hand  and  went  down  street. 
But  I  kept  right  on  and  went  into  the  place, 
and  looked  around.  A  horse  whinnied  to  me 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  319 

back  in  a  dark  part  of  the  place;  but  just  as 
I  went  to  look  a  dog  ran  out  from  somewhere 
around  her  and  drove  me  back.  Well,  the  dog 
drove  me  backward  clear  out  of  the  shop,  and 
I  kept  my  peg-leg  forward  for  the  dog  to  bite 
on.  The  dog  gave  me  a  chance  to  leave ;  but  she 
would  go  at  me  whenever  I  stopped.  So  I  went 
across  the  street  and  stood  a  while  looking  at 
the  big  open  doors ;  then  I  sat  down  and  looked 
around  at  the  grass,  feeling  disappointed. 
Every  once  in  a  while  I  looked  up  to  see  if  the 
man  had  come  back.  And  then  I  saw  another 
man  stooping  down  near  the  door  and  petting  a 
black  cat  that  was  stroking  itself  back  and  forth 
against  his  leg.  That  was  Bill.  And  maybe  I 
did  n  't  make  quick  time  across  the  cobblestones. 
Bill  looked  up  to  see  what  was  coming,  and  be- 
fore I  got  to  the  curb  he  was  reaching  his  arms 
out  to  me.  Bill  was  glad  to  see  me ;  although  he 
ain't  usually  much  of  a  man  to  make  a  fuss. 
But  he  was  glad  to  see  me.  And  when  he  had 
shook  my  hand  again,  and  clapped  me  on  the 
back,  and  stood  off  and  looked  me  over  from 
head  to  foot,  he  just  said:  'I  'm  glad  to  see  you, 
Stumpy. '  And  I  could  see  him  warming  up  to 
me  like  an  iron  in  the  fire.  And  Be  looked 
sorry  when  I  told  him  I  was  sick  and  could  n't 
find  him  again.  He  had  looked  all  over  for  me. 


320  THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH 

"  'And  won't  Eva  and  Nellie  be  glad  to  see 
you  ? '  he  says.  *  They  've  been  worrying  regu- 
lar for  fear  you  might  be  seeing  hard  times,' 
Bill  says  to  me.  'And  they  Ve  been  wondering 
if  you  would  ever  come  along. ' 

11  'Say,  Bill,  which  one  was  it?'  I  says. 

"He  gave  me  a  kind  of  a  look,  and  he  said, 
'Why,  Eva,  of  course.' 

"  'And  how  is  Nellie  getting  along?'  says  I. 

"  'Fat  an'  sassy— same  as  ever.  But  I  guess 
we  '11  be  losing  her  one  of  these  days.  He  's 
a  likely-looking  young  fellow— a  clerk  on  the 
Creole  Belle.  But  I  '11  have  to  look  into  it  a 
little  more  before  I  give  my  consent.' 

"Pretty  soon  the  men  had  arrived  and 
started  to  work  at  the  lathe  and  the  vises  and 
anvils ;  and  then  Bill  took  me  up  to  the  house, 
and  we  stayed  there  till  after  dinner.  Bill  has 
a  fine  house— a  white  frame-house  with  a  porch 
and  vines  on  it.  Well,  Eva  is  the  same  as  ever, 
only  she  seemed  more  like  Bill  to  me— and  Nel- 
lie is  just  as  different  from  her  as  ever.  When 
Eva  saw  me  she  stood  quiet  a  minute ;  and  then 
she  came  up  cool  and  kissed  me,  with  a  tear  in 
her  eye.  But  Nellie  was  the  one  that  was  glad 
about  it.  And  Eva  went  to  work  setting  me  out 
something  to  eat  and  thinking  of  everything  to 
make  me  comfortable,  leaving  Nellie  to  make 


THE  FUGITIVE  BLACKSMITH  321 

me  welcome.  And  when  I  saw  them  all  at  home 
together,  it  seemed  strange  that  I  did  n't  know 
all  the  time  that  Eva  was  the  one  for  his  wife, 
and  Nellie  for  a  sister  to  them.  After  dinner 
we  went  back  to  the  shop  again,  and  Bill  took 
off  his  coat  and  rolled  up  his  sleeves  and 
banked  up  a  fire  and  laid  a  hammer  across  the 
anvil— same  as  old  times. 

"  'And  now,  Stumpy,'  he  says,  'don't  you 
want  to  finish  the  trade?' 

*  *  *  I  was  going  to  ask  you,  Bill,  if  you  would 
give  me  a  job,'  I  says. 

"  'At  helper's  wages— and  board  to  boot. 
And  the  best  time  to  begin  is  always  now,' 
he  says.  *  Take  a  length  of  the  five-eighths  rod 
and  cut  off  fourteen  inches  for  a  ring-bolt. 
You  '11  find  the  rule  right  here  in  my  hip 
pocket.'  " 

NUMBEK  Twenty-four  came  murmuring  on  the 
rails  before  the  sand-house.  Finerty  reached 
out  and  grabbed  the  shovel,  and  hurried  across 
the  tracks. 

"So  long  t'  ye,"  he  said,  waving  his  hand. 
"I  have  me  worruk  to  do." 


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